THE THOUSAND THINGS

Here one by one come back the thousand things

Which made divinely sweet our intercourse;

Love summons them here straightway to divorce

The heart from melancholy wanderings.

“Here laid she her white hand upon my arm;

To this place came she with slow-gliding grace;

Here smiled she up serenely in my face;

And these sweet notes she sang me for a charm.”

I treasure up her words, and say them o'er

With close-shut eyes; with her again I float

Upon the Loire; I see the gems she wore,

The ruby shining at her queenly throat;

I climb with her again the Pyrenees,

And hear her laughter ringing through the trees.