A Misunderstanding

Dora Sigerson Shorter (1866–1918)

I crave of you pardon to-day,Yesterday I was mad when I spoke;But the dream of our friendship was fair,And my heart seemed to die when I woke.

I forgot when the fair image grewTill a goddess's beauty it bore,That the beautiful moulding was mine,The clay was but clay as before.

I slept by a fountain one eve,And thirsting awakened to drink;But the waters I dreamt of were gone,The young grass lay dead on the brink.

Did I think that the sun of to-dayWould shine out to-morrow as fair?Did I vow this sweet breeze would return.That now lifts with soft fingers my hair?

Then I were a fool so to dream:So, friend, grant your pardon to me.She I loved and I lost was not you,But what I had wished you to be.