JOYS OF MEMORY

   

When the spring comes round, and a certain day

Looks out from the brume by the eastern copsetrees

          And says, Remember,

     I begin again, as if it were new,

     A day of like date I once lived through,

     Whiling it hour by hour away;

          So shall I do till my December,

               When spring comes round.

   I take my holiday then and my rest

Away from the dun life here about me,

          Old hours re-greeting

     With the quiet sense that bring they must

     Such throbs as at first, till I house with dust,

     And in the numbness my heartsome zest

          For things that were, be past repeating

               When spring comes round.

-o0o-