From Last Poems of Alexander Robertson, 1918
You entered a “delightful room”
While R. A. still was there,
And you were flushed though you are dark
And light fell on your hair.
The light that falls ere evening comes
Dark-robed from o’er the sea,
The light that falls from heavens clear
Beyond the apple-tree.
And you had snowdrops in your hand,
The sunlight fell on them,—
As once it fell when yet they grew
Grouped like a diadem.
And from your cluster some you took
And placed them on her breast:—
All this I know, imagine not,—
So think how you are blessed.