We supped together in modest state—
Alice, and I, and Memory.
We supped together: the hour was late.
“He will not mind, for once!” she said.
And I smiled, and she, and nodded her head.
And the silver shafts in her brown hair gleamed,
And my face was sad with the grief of Time;
Yet, “Do you remember … that night … we dreamed?”
Her eyes flashed Memory over the years,
And I looked, and saw … “O Alice, not tears!”
So I filled her glass, and bade her quaff—
But she, merrily: “No, till your lips touch!”
And I touched, and she, with her old-time laugh.
And Memory stood by the glasses’ brink
And oh! so tenderly watched us drink.
I was a youth, and she was a maid:
Our eyes were bright, and we locked warm hands
And gazed at the Future unafraid …
And midnight was chiming! … Ah, Alice! ah me!
How old, how sad, was Memory.