My Lady of the Sonnets, one word more,
The last; and, after, let the silence fall.
Our year is ended, and things great and small
Glow with its glory; could we live it o'er,
What would we scatter from its precious store
Of pearl, chalcedony, and topaz--all
The many-jewelled moments that we call
Love's treasure--we who had not loved before!
Into that treasure plunge we both our hands,
The while we laugh, and love, and live again.
What rainbow-splendours and what golden sands
Fall from our fingers! ... Now let come the pain
And steal the shadow, moan the wintry sea;
Locked is the casket: in your hands the key!