“So many unlived lives,” she said; and idle
As gulls in their sleepy drift, a hot and somber
Autumn day in umber, we talked of things
Beyond the fountains of the moon, and walked
Without a place to go, for we were free;
Within the shadow of a prophecy.

“Those marriages of flesh and dream that stand
Before no altar of reality
Have consummation only in a wish.
And what of you and me who drink from springs
Whose waters never cloy but drown all sense
Of urgency ? We walk and watch the river
And the days, and lean an ear to find
A messages in the mumbling of the wind.”