ROSEMARY[2]

I wear your fragrant memory, like a spray of mignonette,
As I tread the winding ribbon of the years.
How clear the radiant image of you stands before me yet
In the thousand little mirrors of my tears.
And, ah, my dearest love, when I forget the way to dream
I'll forget your silent nearness in the dark,
Where languorous lilies floated on a quiet woodland stream--
Or were you the one I'd meet in Central Park?
The love of you was sudden and the heart of you was strong;
There were leaping little devils in your eyes;
Your laughter rode the morning like a joyous May-day song--
No, I guess that must have been the other two guys.

Could I forget your April smile, the shining way of you,
Could I forget your method so adroit?
Could I forget those stories of the other girls you knew?
Or was that the butter-and-egg man from Detroit?
A pair of truant children, we would often steal away
Where the city's voice was gloriously mute,
And plan the little cottage we should have, one happy day--
Or were you the boy that had the wife in Butte?
You had my first, my golden love, and though we're torn apart,
Through all the circling years, I've been the same.
Your name is ever written on the pages of my heart---
And, by the way, my dear, what was your name?

by Dorothy Parker

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