High above a waveless sea,
On the hills of long ago.
There you lived awhile with me.
And we loved—I know.

For your hair I made a crown,
Twined it with these hands of mine,
Sun-warmed leaves and tendrils brown,
From the happy vine.

You were like some woodland thing,
Fear and rapture in your eyes,
Tender as a breath of Spring
Blown from April skies.

Then I called you, and you heard.
To your lover's arms you came :
Ah ! what was that magic word.
Your forgotten name !