Gone in good sooth you are;
Not even in dream you come
As if the strictures of the light
Laid on our glances to their disesteem
Extended even to shadows and the night
Extended even beyond that drowsy sill
Along whose galleries open to the skies
All maskers move unchallenged and at will
Visor in hand, or hooded to the eyes
To that pavilion the green sea in flood curves in
And the slow dancers dance in foam;
I find again thе pink camellia bud
On the wide stеp beside a silver comb...
But it is scentless
Up the marble stair I mount with pain
Knowing you are not there