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It hears the April…loosened springs；
And mixes with its mood
All it dreamed when it stood
In the murmurous pine…wood
Long ago！
The magical moonlight then
Steeped every bough and cone；
The roar of the brook in the glen
Came dim from the distance blown；
The wind through its glooms sang low；
And it swayed to and fro；
With delight as it stood；
In the wonderful wood；
Long ago！
O my life； have we not had seasons
That only said； Live and rejoice？
That asked not for causes and reasons；
But made us all feeling and voice？
When we went with the winds in their blowing；
When Nature and we were peers；
And we seemed to share in the flowing
Of the inexhaustible years？
Have we not from the earth drawn juices
Too fine for earth's sordid uses？
Have I heard； have I seen
All I feel； all I know？
Doth my heart overween？
Or could it have been
Long ago？
Sometimes a breath floats by me；
An odor from Dreamland sent；
That makes the ghost seem nigh me
Of a splendor that came and went；
Of a life lived somewhere； I know not
In what diviner sphere；
Of memories that stay not and go not；
Like music heard once by an ear
That cannot forget or reclaim it；
A something so shy； it would shame it
To make it a show；
A something too vague； could I name it；
For others to know；
As if I had lived it or dreamed it；
As if I had acted or schemed it；
Long ago！
And yet； could I live it over；
This life that stirs in my brain；
Could I be both maiden and lover；
Moon and tide； bee and clover；
As I seem to have been； once again；
Could I but speak it and show it；
This pleasure more sharp than pain；
That baffles and lures me so；
The world should once more have a poet；
Such as it had
In the ages glad；
Long ago！
James Russell Lowell ＇1819…1891＇
AN IMMORALITY
Sing we for love and idleness；
Naught else is worth the having。
Though I have been in many a land；
There is naught else in living。
And I would rather have my sweet；
Though rose…leaves die of grieving；
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing。
Ezra Pound ＇1885…
THREE SEASONS
〃A cup for hope！〃 she said；
In springtime ere the bloom was old：
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red。
〃A cup for love！〃 how low；
How soft the words； and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow。
〃A cup for memory！〃
Cold cup that one must drain alone：
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea。
Hope； memory； love：
Hope for fair morn； and love for day；
And memory for the evening gray
And solitary dove。
Christina Georgina Rossetti ＇1830…1894＇
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES
I have had playmates； I have had companions；
In my days of childhood； in my joyful schooldays； …
All； all are gone； the old familiar faces。
I have been laughing； I have been carousing；
Drinking late； sitting late； with my bosom cronies； …
All； all are gone； the old familiar faces。
I loved a Love once； fairest among women：
Closed are her doors on me； I must not see her； …
All； all are gone； the old familiar faces。
I have a friend； a kinder friend has no man：
Like an ingrate； I left my friend abruptly；
Left him； to muse on the old familiar faces。
Ghost…like； I paced round the haunts of my childhood。
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse；
Seeking to find the old familiar faces。
Friend of my bosom； thou more than a brother；
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling？
So might we talk of the old familiar faces …
How some they have died； and some they have left me；
And some are taken from me； all are departed； …
All； all are gone； the old familiar faces。
Charles Lamb ＇1775…1834＇
THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS
Oft in the stilly night；
Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me；
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me：
The smiles； the tears；
Of boyhood's years；
The words of love then spoken；
The eyes that shone；
Now dimmed and gone；
The cheerful hearts now broken！
Thus in the stilly night；
Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me；
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me。
When I remember all
The friends； so linked together；
I've seen around me fall；
Like leaves in wintry weather；
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet…hall deserted；
Whose lights are fled；
Whose garlands dead；
And all but he departed！
Thus in the stilly night；
Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me；
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me。
Thomas Moore ＇1779…1852＇
〃TEARS； IDLE TEARS〃
From 〃The Princess〃
Tears； idle tears； I know not what they mean；
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes；
In looking on the happy Autumn…fields；
And thinking of the days that are no more。
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail；
That brings our friends up from the underworld；
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge；
So sad； so fresh； the days that are no more。
Ah； sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half…awakened birds
To dying ears； when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square；
So sad； so strange； the days that are no more。
Dear as remembered kisses after death；
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others； deep as love；
Deep as first love； and wild with all regret；
O Death in Life； the days that are no more！
Alfred Tennyson ＇1809…1892＇
THE PET NAME
〃。 。 。 the name
Which from their lips seemed a caress。〃
… Miss Milford's 〃Dramatic Scenes〃
I have a name； a little name；
Uncadenced for the ear；
Unhonored by ancestral claim；
Unsanctified by prayer and psalm
The solemn font anear。
It never did to pages wove
For gay romance belong；
It never dedicate did move
As 〃Sacharissa〃 unto love；
〃Orinda〃 unto song。
Though I write books； it will be read
Upon the leaves of none；
And afterward； when I am dead；
Will ne'er be graved for sight or tread；
Across my funeral…stone。
This name； whoever chance to call；
Perhaps your smile may win：
Nay； do not smile！ mine eyelids fall
Over mine eyes and feel withal
The sudden tears within。
Is there a leaf； that greenly grows
Where summer meadows bloom；
But gathereth the winter snows；
And changeth to the hue of those；
If lasting till they come？
Is there a word； or jest； or game；
But time incrusteth round
With sad associate thoughts the same？
And so to me my very name
Assumes a mournful sound。
My brother gave that name to me
When we were children twain；
When names acquired baptismally
Were hard to utter； as to see
That life had any pain。
No shade was on us then； save one