(1880-1966 / Atlanta, Georgia)

The Return

Again we meet—a flashing glance,
And then, to scabbard, goes the lance,
While thoughts troop on in cavalcade
Adown the wide aisles time has made.

Back in the glow of yesterday,
With tender troth you rode away,
The sheen of rainbows in our eyes,
That swept the rim of other skies.

And now a writhing worm am I,
Beneath a doomed love's lensing eye,
Let me but stagger, far from sight,
To hide my anguish, in the night.

by Georgia Douglas Johnson

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