MEMORY

Sweet as the lutes of love, from fields of sleep

Come murmurs of the rain; and reveries

Haunt the green ways their tryst with eve to keep.

Slumberous music, fragile melodies,

Move in the chiming leaves, like that loved pain,

Which fills the heart with restless memories.

Chime of the leaves and murmur of the rain

In mine own soul there are, and voices sweet,

Which help me the lost moments to regain.

The hours dance round me on their slender feet

With joys that pierce my heart, as keen as spears

Remembered sorrows, pleasures that were fleet

To vanish, or dissolve in dew of tears:

Seeing them thus, I cannot choose but weep.

Surely in this wise God shall reap the years.

Sweet with the fruits of love, from fields of sleep.