Dark where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dew-drops--at the bent spray's edge--
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
Let fate do her worst, there are the relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories…
How thrills once more the lengthening chain
Of memory, at the thought of thee!
Old hopes which long in dust have lain,
Old dreams come thronging back again,
And boyhood lives in me;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,
It's fullness of the heart is…
"Now the soft air doth pause,
And silent the long shadows eastward creep,
And in the wood aisles like a columned church
With many chapels, settles down the dusk,
And spider threads amidst form elfin bridges
for the yellow light to pass."