WARDROBE OF REMEMBRANCE

Guises your moods once wore are hung within

The closet of my mind. I take access

This moment to regard them and confess

How spare for want of you they hang, and thin.

Pity seems all their argument may win,

That fine, frail rustling of each mood's meet dress.

Yet starts a subtle incense from the press,

Crushed perfumes of the flowers your thoughts have been.

Sweeter than ever spoken do they come

Again with finer relish to my mind

Starved on your absence. False surmise is numb,

For now in these reliques of you I find

The smile you meant when rebel lips were dumb,

The kind words agitation made unkind.