XXVI

There is a little path among the trees

That leads me to a quiet garden-plot;

Thither I go for the content of thought,

Dreams, and the quiet joy of reveries;

And in this place my simple melodies

Are sung with you beside me — fancies caught

From the swift moment, as if one forgot

The truth that cries: “Imaginings are these!”

So have I with the magic of the mind

Called and compelled you to my lonely heart;

And never have you failed me. Now I find

No more the anguish of dead days; apart

From you I faltered; at your side I gain

Gladness from sorrow, and peace out of pain!