(Two who became a story)
By the Runic Stone
They sat, where the gra** sloped down,
And chattered, he white-hatted, she in brown,
Pink-faced, breeze-blown.
Rapt there alone
In the transport of talking so
In such a place, there was nothing to let them know
What hours had flown.
And the die thrown
By them heedlessly there, the dent
It was to cut in their encompa**ment,
Were, too, unknown.
It might have strown
Their zest with qualms to see,
As in a gla**, Time toss their history
From zone to zone!