SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



There are others toiling and straining 



'Neath burdens graver than mine — 

 They are weary, yet uncomplaining — 



I know it, yet I repine ; 

 I know it, how time will ravage, 



How time will level, and yet 

 I long with a longing savage, 



I regret with a fierce regret. 



You are no false ideal, 



Something is left of you, 

 Present, perceptible, real. 



Palpable, tangible, true ; 

 One shred of your broken necklace, 



One tress of your pale, gold hair. 

 And a heart so utterly reckless. 



That the worst it would gladly dare. 



There is little pleasure, if any, 



In waking the past anew ; 

 My days and nights have been many ; 



Lost chances many I rue — 

 My days and nights have been many ; 



Now I pray that they be few, 



When I think on the hill-side, Annie, 



Where I dream't that the skies were blue. 

 1 06 



