What of the days when we two dreamed together? 
 Days marvellously fair, 
As lightsome as a skyward floating feather 
 Sailing on summer air-- 
Summer, summer, that came drifting through 
Fate's hand to me, to you. 

What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder 
 If you too wish this sky 
Could be the blue we sailed so softly under, 
 In that sun-kissed July; 
Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon, 
With hearts in touch and tune. 

Have you no longing to re-live the dreaming, 
 Adrift in my canoe? 
To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming 
 Cleaving the waters through? 
To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until 
Your restless pulse grows still? 

Do you not long to listen to the purling 
 Of foam athwart the keel? 
To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling 
 Among their stones, to feel 
The boat's unsteady tremor as it braves 
The wild and snarling waves? 

What need of question, what of your replying? 
 Oh! well I know that you 
Would toss the world away to be but lying 
 Again in my canoe, 
In listless indolence entranced and lost, 
Wave-rocked, and passion tossed. 

Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering 
 Across love's shoreless seas; 
All reckless, I had ne'er a thought of fearing 
 Such dreary days as these, 
When through the self-same rapids we dash by, 
My lone canoe and I.