Author: Madison Julius Cawein

---

    Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
    That night of love, when first we met,
    You have forgotten, Geraldine - 
    I never dreamed you would forget.

    Ah, Geraldine, sweet Geraldine,
    More lovely than that Asian queen,
    Scheherazade, the beautiful,
    Who in her orient palace cool
    Of India, for a thousand nights
    And one, beside her monarch lay,
    Telling - while sandal-scented lights
    And music stole the soul away - 
    Love tales of old Arabia,
    Full of enchantments and emprise - 
    But no enchantments like your eyes.

    Ah, Geraldine, loved Geraldine,
    More lovely than those maids, I ween,
    Pampinea and Lauretta, who,
    In gardens old of dusk and dew,
    Sat with their lovers, maid and man,
    In stately days Italian,
    And in quaint stories, that we know
    Through grace of good Boccaccio,
    Told of fond loves, some false, some true, - 
    But, Geraldine, none false as you.

    Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
    That night of love, when first we met,
    You have forgotten, Geraldine - 
    I never dreamed you would forget.

    'T was summer, and the moon swam high,
    A great pale pearl within the sky:
    And down that purple night of love
    The stars, concurrent spark on spark,
    Seemed fiery moths that swarmed above:
    And through the roses, o'er the park,
    Star-like the fire-flies filled the dark:
    A mocking-bird in some deep tree,
    Drowsy with dreams and melody,
    Like a magnolia bud, that, dim,
    Opens and pours its soul in musk,
    Gave to the moonlight and the dusk
    Its heart's pure song, its evening hymn.
    Oh, night of love! when in the dance
    Your heart thrilled rapture into mine,
    As in a state of necromance
    A mortal hears a voice divine.
    Oh, night of love! when from your glance
    I drank sweet death as men drink wine.

    You wearied of the waltz at last.
    I led you out into the night.
    Warm in my hand I held yours fast.

    Your face was flushed; your eyes were bright.
    The moon hung like a shell of light
    Above the lake, above the trees:
    And borne to us with fragrances
    Of roses that were ripe to fall,
    The soul of music from the hall
    Beat in the moonlight and the breeze,
    As youth's wild heart grown weary of
    Desire and its dream of love.

    I held your arm and, for awhile,
    We walked along the balmy aisle
    Of flowers that, like velvet, dips
    Unto the lake which lilies tile
    Like stars; and hyacinths, like strips
    Of heaven: and beside a fall,
    That, down a ferned and mossy wall,
    Fell in the lake, - deep, woodbine-wound,
    A latticed summer-house we found;
    A green kiosk, - through which the sound
    Of waters and of breezes swayed,
    And honeysuckle bugles played
    Soft serenades of perfume sweet, - 
    Around which ran a rustic seat.
    And seated in that haunted nook, - 
    I know not how it was, - a word,
    A touch, perhaps, a sigh, a look,
    Was father to the kiss I took;

    Great things grow out of small I've heard.
    And then it was I took between
    My hands your face, loved Geraldine,
    And gazed into your eyes, and told
    The story ever new though old.
    You did not look away, but met
    My eyes with eyes whose lids were wet
    With tears of truth; and you did lean
    Your cheek to mine, sweet Geraldine, - 
    I never dreamed you would forget.

    The night-wind and the water sighed:
    And through the leaves, that stirred above,
    The moonbeams swooned with music of
    The dance - soft things in league with love:
    I never dreamed that you had lied.

    How all comes back now, Geraldine!
    The melody; the glimmering scene;
    Your angel face; and ev'n, between
    Your lawny breasts, the heart-shaped jewel, - 
    To which your breath gave fluctuant fuel, - 
    A rosy star of stormy fire;
    The snowy drift of your attire,
    Lace-deep and fragrant: and your hair,
    Disordered in the dance, held back
    By one gemmed pin, - a moonbeam there,
    Half-drowned within its night-like black.
    And I who sat beside you then,
    Seemed blessed above all mortal men.

    I loved you for the way you sighed;
    The way you said, "I love but you;"
    The smile with which your lips replied;
    Your lips, that from my bosom drew
    The soul; your looks, like undenied
    Caresses, that seemed naught but true:
    I loved you for the violet scent
    That clung about you as a flower;
    Your moods, where shine and shadow blent,
    An April-tide of sun and shower;
    You were my creed, my testament,
    Wherein I read of God's high power.

    Was it because the loving see
    Only what they desire shall be
    There in the well-belovd's soul,
    Affection and affinity,
    That I beheld in you the whole
    Of my love's image? and believed
    You loved as I did? nor perceived
    'T was but a mask, a mockery!

    Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
    That night of love, when first we met,
    You have forgotten, Geraldine - 
    I never dreamed you would forget.

---

Type of Poem: Narrative Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This long and evocative poem is rich with themes of love, loss, betrayal, and memory. The speaker conveys an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and regret over a lost love, Geraldine, who has apparently forgotten the speaker despite their once intense passion. The repeated refrain, "You have forgotten, Geraldine - I never dreamed you would forget," serves as a poignant reminder of the speaker's disbelief and heartache over this unreciprocated remembrance.

The poem is notable for its vivid and lush imagery, often invoking nature and other romantic elements to describe the passionate and idyllic past. The poet skillfully uses literary devices such as metaphor and simile to create a vivid and immersive atmosphere. For example, the moon is described as "a great pale pearl," the stars like "fiery moths," and Geraldine herself is compared to enchanting figures from literature and history.

The tone of the poem is mournful and introspective, with the speaker lamenting their loss and reflecting on their love's fleeting nature. The structure of the poem, with its repetitive refrains and elaborate descriptions, mirrors the speaker's obsessive fixation on the past and their inability to move on from Geraldine's memory. The poem is also marked by a dramatic irony, as the speaker's idealized memories of Geraldine clash with the reality of her forgetfulness, hinting at the often deceptive nature of love and memory.

The poem's final lines reveal the speaker's realization of Geraldine's deceit, a bitter revelation that further deepens the sense of loss and betrayal. This, coupled with the speaker's continual longing and idealization of the past, paints a complex and poignant picture of unrequited love and the harsh reality of disillusionment.