In what manner can I tell you that it wasn't my fault? You spent one more evening in the unreal, ramshackle town, and remembered all was sparkling-- the girl, the street, and the crowd. You left the feast without a sound, through crimson laughters elbowing; among the chinking toasts your frown marked no speckle in the night. Ten years ago all of your sight she was, two decades more our encounter, for which you thank'd th' might of Heaven, the giver of the hours. Together everything's a flower, 'xcept game of lips so brief 'n' slight; 'gainst nothing would you fresh eyes cower, which yet worn enough to flash the vision. Their banquet gestures did burgeon weird happiness you failed to share. On your mind there's but one question: where was that blessed, mistaken pair? Collapsing day of dark-yellow glare walked you down to the tower of pigeon, where you exchanged the first thoughtful stare; now overlooked the clamorous feast. Knew you not when the feeling ceased, driving hands to books, and lips to curse; in silence something seem'd t' 've deceased. Heart cold, tales ready to rehearse, You left this place with your vows and hers. A doctor's love poured, as yours decreased, her life. She became his nurse. To your story their red card dropp'd an end. To attend was not to condescend; not won or lost, but sheer regret: the nonchalance, the ebb, as if feigned, dissipated as the aliens met. Upon the hotel roof you frett'd, drunk, all wet, the moon on the wane, below, familiar town-light, her silhouette; into the air of fume you fell. Returned for them, alone you dwelt in a small hotel. The night was cold. You brought wine to the roof, no pell-mell. Nothing you needed to uphold. You, heart found, two quarters old, toasted the moon. A stairwell shone in her pale veil wrought with gold. Smiled, into the air of fume you fell. So, in what manner can I tell you that it wasn't my fault? You spent one more evening in the unreal, ramshackle town. Farewell, O, farewell. You went astray, but soon'd be found; and remembered all was sparkling-- the girl, the street, and the crowd. -- Welcome any criticism or discussion. --

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