BY THE HILL OF DAN.

BY THE HILL OF DAN.
Clinton Scollard
272.3

Marie, I wonder if you recall,
Conning the past like a written scroll,
That day, the goldenest day of all,
And the long rest under the giant bole
Where the singing Banias waters roll?

Over the bough-tops the blue of noon-
A Syrian sapphire shot with gold-
Quivered and burned; and a lyric rune
Stirred in the leaves, and the bulbul told
Its pleading, passionate love-tale old.

On a curious web of Kermanshah
Our tempting mid-day feast was spread-
Figs from the date of Derdera,
The white rice cakes and the barley bread,
And the Lebanon vintage amber-red.

Then, afterward, in the plane-tree shade,
How we sat and talked of the coming years,
While the carelessly tethered horses strayed
Aftar through the thicket of bamboo spears,
And the dragoman stormed at the muleteers!

We have followed fate, and we meet no more,
And I know not whither your footsteps fall;
But when spring returns, and the swallows soar,
I often wonder if you recall
That day, the goldenest day of all.