Satiemus

What if I know thy speeches word by word? And if thou knew'st I knew them wouldst thou speak? What if I know thy speeches word by word, And all the time thou sayest them o'er I said, 'Lo, one there was who bent her fair bright head, Sighing as thou dost through the golden speech.' Or, as our laughters mingle each with each, As crushed lips take their respite fitfully, What if my thoughts were turned in their mid reach Whispering among them, 'The fair dead Must know such moments, thinking on the grass; On how white dogwoods murmured overhead In the bright glad days!' How if the low dear sound within thy throat Hath as faint lute-strings in its dim accord Dim tales that blind me, running one by one With times told over as we tell by rote; What if I know thy laughter word by word Nor find aught novel in thy merriment ?