 | Poems |  |
AT DULWICH.
Dear lie the meadows of full many a May,Deep-grass'd and daisied, in my memory's sight;
Elms of how many a Spring, my thoughts, delight;
Blooms of what vanish'd years may sweet my way;
Dark hours are glorified with day on day
Departed, set into the past's dim night;
All lustres of my past, my present, light,
And dearer grow the longer that they stay.
Yet this glad day more dear will memory mark;
This day more surely will oblivion spurn;
Ne'er to be whelm'd in the pursuing dark,
But dearer, fairer, ever to return,
Till, cold, my ear can hear no more May's lark,
And suns no more for my closed eyes shall burn.
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