Looking at an opal, a half-grey opal,
I remembered two beautiful grey eyesI had seen it must have been twenty years before . . .
For a month we loved each
Then he went away,
I think to Smyrna,
To work there; we never saw each other again.
The grey eyes —— if he lives —— have lost their beauty;
The beautiful face will have been spoiled.
O Memory, preserve them as they were.
And,
Memory, all you can of this love of
Whatever you can bring back to me tonight.
