Softest Memories
Like the morning dew openly hanging loose on the darling petals of innocent flowers,
My memories softest, in my rueful eyes found their beds and bowers.
Oh you, the dear departed had only but to say ay,
Had I but asked a constant hand and a caring eye.
The winter here enters slow and slender
Trees and cities in mourning moods tender
Sullen atrocities to scintillating souls.
And eventful generations of sauntering thoughts
Desire to multiply and put to routs.
O my sweet object of poetry, O my life unworded
Hark, O return, my heart has you,girded.
