Why are you absent in the night, my love?
Where are you when the bells ring in the night?
Now, there are bells again,
And who shall say—
Whatever disenchantment follows—
That we ever forget magic,
We shall not come again.
We never shall come back again.
But over us all, over us all,
The wasting helve of the moon rode into heaven
Over the bulk of the hills.
There was a smell of wet grass and lilac,
On the Square,
The slackened fountain
Dripped a fat spire of freezing water
Into its thickening rim of ice.
And the slant light steepened in the skies,
The old red light of waning day
Made magic fire upon the river,
Autumn was kind to them,
Winter was long to them—
But in April, late April,