I cast the Net of Memory,Man's torment and delight,Over the level Sands of YouthThat lay serenely bright,Their tranquil gold at times submergedIn the Spring Tides of Love's Delight.
The Net brought up, in silver gleams,Forgotten truth and fancies fair:Like opal shells, small happy factsWithin the Net entangled wereWith the red coral of his lips,The waving seaweed of his hair.
We were so young; he was so fair.
