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I thought, because we had been friends so long,
That I knew all your dear lips dared intend Before they dawned to speech.
Our thoughts would blend,
I dreamed, like memories that faintly throng.
Your voice dwelt in me like an olden song.
Petal,
I thought, from petal I could rend The blossom of your soul, and at the end Find still the same sweet fragrance.
I was wrong.
Last evening in our eyes love brimmed to birth;
Our friendship faded, lost in passion's mist.
We had been strangers only!
Here, close-caught Against my heart the dim face I had sought So long!
And now the only thing on earth— Your piteous mouth, a-tremble to be kissed!
Arthur Henry Adams
Arthur Henry Adams (6 June 1872 – 4 March 1936) was a journalist and author. He started his career in New Zealand, though he spent most of it in
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NT me, you said, a poem; give to meA breathing thought that I may keep to kiss While that low laugh that aye a mandate Nestled upon your lips Call
