There In The Past I See Her As Of Old, Blue-Eyed And Hazel-Haired, Within A Room Dim With A Twilight Of Tenebrious Gold; Her White Face Sensuous As A Delicate Bloom Night Opens In The Tropics. Fold On Fold Pale Laces Drape Her; And A Frail Perfume, As Of A Moonlit Primrose Brimmed With Rain, Breathes From Her Presence, Drowsing Heart And Brain. Her Head Is Bent; Some Red Carnations Glow Deep In Her Heavy Hair; Her Large Eyes Gleam;-- Bright Sister Stars Of Those Twin Worlds Of Snow, Her Breasts, Through Which The Veined Violets Stream;-- I Hold Her Hand; Her Smile Comes Sweetly Slow As Thoughts Of Love That Haunt A Poet'S Dream; And At Her Feet Once More I Sit And Hear Wild Words Of Passion--Dead This Many A Year.