Summer Memory

The door ajar, I stood at point of day,
Tiptoe for you and with awakened eyes.
The sun’s gold slipper trod the gravelled way,

The grasses spilled their dews in glad surprise-
And then you came out of a mist of flowers
That clung and swayed like knots of butterflies!

When afterwards we two, in softened hours,
Walked through the fields of rye all red for reaping,
I felt as if my heart obeyed new powers:

The old in me seemed either dead or sleeping,
And as I glimpsed the poppies’ fluttering fire,
An eager pleasure set my pulses leaping.

And you, these sang, could give me my desire.