She Has Made Me Wayside Posies

She has made me wayside posies: here they stand,

Bringing fresh memories of where they grew.

As new-come travellers from a world we knew

Wake every while some image of their land,

So these whose buds our woodland breezes fanned

Bring to my room the meadow where they blew,

The brook-side cliff, the elms where wood-doves coo—

And every flower is dearer for her hand.

Oh blossoms of the paths she loves to tread,

Some grace of her is in all thoughts you bear:

For in my memories of your homes that were

The old sweet loneliness they kept is fled,

And would I think it back I find instead

A presence of my darling mingling there.