Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] :: :: University of Virginia Library

The words that are spoken are soon forgotten,
Music is played, and then dies in the air;
But all these my children—my soul-begotten,
Will live to me longer than tune or pray'r.

The lines that are written, and sealed, and treasured,
May breathe of too much, or may seem too cold,
Whilst these that are written, and rhymed, and measured,
Can tell far more tenderly what they have told.

Ah, and far more plainly than old tunes playing,
And far more distinctly than pictured scroll,
These words that the voice of my heart is saying
Will bring my love of you back to my soul!

In days that fear neither loving nor losing,
In days that are dawning or may not dawn,
The breath of my songs will keep from closing
The darkening curtains that Time has drawn.

And from ev'ry page, like a faded blossom,
Whose colours are dimm'd, but whose fragrance clings,
These written words that once lived in my bosom,
Will tell their old home of departed things;

Till out of the Past, as I gaze in sorrow
On records of love that was loved in vain,
The dream of my youth, in that dim to-morrow,
Will seem to come back to my arms again!