For I know not where nor why;

But perhaps we loved too well

In some world that does not lie

East or west of where we dwell,

And beneath no mortal sky.

Was it in the golden ages

Or the iron?—I had heard,—

In the prophecy of sages,—

Haply, how had come a bird,

Underneath whose wing were pages

Of an unknown lover's word.

I forget. You may remember

How the earthquake shook our ships;

How our city, one huge ember,

Blazed within the thick eclipse.

When you found me—deep December

Sealed my icy eyes and lips.

I forget. No one may say

That such things can not be true:—

Here a flower dies to-day,

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