(1) Slivers of rain upon the pane, Jade-green with sunlight, melt and flow Upward again:”they leave no stain Of all the storm an hour ago. (2) Over the hill a last cloud dips And disappears, and I should go As silently but that your lips Are warmer with a redder glow. (3) Fresh and fragile, your arms now Are circles of cool roses,”so. . . . In opal pools beneath your brow I dream we quarreled long, long ago.