Vallée de Chevreuse

Arthur Davison Ficke

THAT day we hunted lilies-of-the-valley And hidden violets where small waters flow.

Our laughter scared the quivering May chameleon;

Our hands were clasped the clasp that lovers know.

There was a flowering apple on a hillside

So flushed with light we kissed and almost wept.

Do you remember the slow rain of petals

That fell, as in each other's arms we slept?

When I am old, I think I shall revisit

That world, where slopes are green and skies are blue,

Hunting, not violets nor the brooks of lilies, Hunting remote days and my love of you.