Arthur Henry Adams (6 December 1872 – 4 March 1936 / Lawrence / New Zealand)
SHE glanced across the path to me,
Her looks were kisses plain to see.
I gave her glances back to her—
She saw the lifting of despair.
From memory a face looked out,
No years could sour that love to doubt.
My soul would nevermore be lone—
Hearts still were waiting for my own.
Our souls uncurtained then, perchance—
Each built an epoch in a glance.
Out of her fellowship so free
She gave some gladness unto me.
And I gave? As we turned apart—
I saw the shudder in her heart.
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