She stood at the lakeside, pale
skirts summer-twilight glowing,
hair loose and light about her head
as if in water outspread. Wavelets
ankle-lapping. I called out
but oh, God, she would not listen.
She just ran and I could not
follow, all dark and I couldn’t find her.
The slap and slosh and cold water closing…
(We sat on the wall and talked,
we lay in the grass and loved.
You princes always prating
of other islands in other cold seas—
Forgive me, good sir, I am bound
for better or worse, for airier realms.)