Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast, Tell me you have no memories of your past That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.
Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred -- Does not the deed speak louder than the word? (_Dear Christ_! _that old dream woke again and stirred_.)
As you love me, you never loved before? Though oft you say it -- say it yet once more; My heart is jealous of those days of yore.
Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my child, My life is yours, by memory undefiled. (_It stirs again_, _that passion brief and wild_.)
You never knew such happy hours as this, We two alone, our hearts surcharged with bliss, Nor other kisses sweet as my own kiss?
I was the thirsty field, long parched with drouth, You were the warm rain blowing from the South. (_But oh_! _the crimson madness of her mouth_.)
You would not, if you could, go down life's track For just one little moment, and bring back Some vanished raptures that you miss or lack?
I am content. You are my life, my all. (_One burning hour_, _but one_, _could I recall_. _God_! _how men lie_, _when driven to the wall_! )
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