A Memory

Her image comes flooding through my mind
like a ray of sunlight at the hour before dawn.
I drive it from me, but it will not turn back;
it floods my skies with picture upon picture.
Wherever I turn, the visions surge,
glowing about me — how I love the remembering!
Will you see me one day swimming in her memory,
dallying between advance and retreat?
I would give all I own of youth's enchantments
if the memory could be wiped away and the trace live on.
Sweeter than the cup of passion is a revolt
that shatters the cup and hides away the sparks.
My youth has gone mad — so dance, O summits,
drunken around me, and chant aloud the news.