Memories

Again, as always, when the shadows fall,

In that sweet space between the dark and day,

I leave the present and its fretful claims

And seek the dim past where my memories stay.

I dream an old, forgotten, far-off dream,

And think old thoughts and live old scenes anew,

Till suddenly I reach the heart of Spring—

The spring that brought me you!

I see again a little woody lane,

The moonlight rifting golden through the trees;

I hear the plaintive chirp of drowsy bird

Lulled dreamward by a tender, vagrant breeze;

I hold your hand, I look into your eyes,

I touch your lips,—oh, peerless, matchless dower!

Oh, Memory thwarting Time and Space and Death!

Oh, Little Perfect Hour!