The Spike or Victoria College Review 1936
Beatrice
Beatrice
Why do the gods, I wonder, vex me so
By mocking me with that elusive You,
According, every time we meet anew,
Only a few sweet words . . . before you go?
Swift golden seconds, each a passing gleam
That leaves the darkness deeper, yet to me,
Brief moments that revive a reverie—
A reawakening to an olden dream.
Though many a moon divide us, many a mile
Conspire to banish to oblivion
All but the memory of your parting smile,
I find myself, when years have hurried on,
With you and music just a little while;
And when the music changes, you are gone.
—H.W.G.