Just at the corner of the wall We met--yes, he and I -
Who had not faced in camp or hall Since we bade home good-bye, And what once happened came back--all -
Out of those years gone by.
And that strange woman whom we knew And loved--long dead and gone, Whose poor half-perished residue, Tombless and trod, lay yon!
But at this moment to our view Rose like a phantom wan.
And in his fixed face I could see, Lit by a lurid shine, The drama re-enact which she Had dyed incarnadine For us, and more. And doubtless he Beheld it too in mine.
A start, as at one slightly known, And with an indifferent air We passed, without a sign being shown That, as it real were, A memory-acted scene had thrown Its tragic shadow there.
