I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade
On the closed curtains of my eyes,--
A bit of river green as jade
Under green skies;

A single bird that soars and dips
Remote; a young and secret moon
Stealing to kiss some flower's lips
Too shy for noon;

A pointing tree; a lifted hill,
Sun-misted with a golden ring,--
Were these once mine? And am I still
Remembering?

A path that wanders wistfully
With no beginning there nor here,
Nor special grace that it should be
So sharply dear,

Unless,--what if when every day
Is yesterday, with naught to borrow,
I may slip down this wistful way
Into to-morrow?