Gone in Good Sooth by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Gone in good sooth you are: not even in dream

You come. As if the strictures of the light, / Laid on our glances to their disesteem, / Extended even to shadows and the night;

Extended even beyond that drowsy sill

Along whose galleries open to the skies

All maskers move unchallenged and at will, / Visor in hand or hooded to the eyes.

To that pavilion the green sea in flood

Curves in, and the slow dancers dance in foam;

I find again the pink camellia-bud

On the wide step, beside a silver comb. But it is scentless; up the marble stair

I mount with pain, knowing you are not there.