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The Spike or Victoria University College Review 1934

The Idealist

The Idealist

Once, I saw you, ere you fled—
A glimpse—and my Ideal was dead;
Scattered to the winds of day,
Its mocking fragments round me lay.

Your knavish self who snatched from me
My love's ideal so wantonly,
Strew relics—lest I should forget—
Where you have been, a mem'ry yet.

Love giv'n in trust to all I knew—
Strange elfin one—an ideal You,
In segments schemed by musing pen
Now shapes the fossil tale again—

I love no mortal—that is why
I do not heed your passing by.
All love you leave with me—Adieu!,
Midst debris of an ideal You.

Some day love's fossils urged by pen
To trace the story back again,
Will crumble—even fossils must—
And end all thought of you in dust.

I would you tread once more this way
To find upon that powdered grey,
Impressed where I shall wander—Elf!
You lived, you died—within myself.

—Ilma M. Levy.

Prize Poem, "Spike," 1932.