by Stephen Crane
I wonder if sometimes in the dusk, When the brave lights that gild thy evenings Have not yet been touched with flame, I wonder if sometimes in the dusk Thou rememberest a time, A time when thou loved me And our love was to thee thy all? Is the memory rubbish now? An old gown Worn in an age of other fashions? Woe is me, oh, lost one, For that love is now to me A supernal dream, White, white, white with many suns.