To The Companions

How comes it that, at even-tide, When level beams should show most truth, Man, failing, takes unfailing pride In memories of his frolic youth? Venus and Liber fill their hour; The games engage, the law-courts prove; Till hardened life breeds love of power Or Avarice, Age's final love. Yet at the end, these comfort not-- Nor any triumph Fate decrees-- Compared with glorious, unforgot-- Ten innocent enormities Of frontless days before the beard, When, instant on the casual jest, The God Himself of Mirth appeared And snatched us to His heaving breast And we--not caring who He was But certain He would come again-- Accepted all He brought to pass As Gods accept the lives of men... Then He withdrew from sight and speech, Nor left a shrine. How comes it now, While Charon's keel grates on the beach, He calls so clear: "Rememberest thou?"