Con un anno di ritardo e una vita di distanza.
I could not run or play
in boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup,
Not drink -
For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here
Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:
There is a garden of acacia,
Catalpa threes, and arbors sweet with vines
There on that afternoon in June
By Mary’s side -
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddently took flight.
