Eye-Memory.

When the present all around me1
                        
                        Forms a picture of fair things,2
                        
                        That awake bright thoughts within me—3
                        
                        Fairy shapes and seraph wings—4
                        
                        Then I quench my thirst at fountains,5
                        
                        Fountains of eternal springs.6
                        Fancy sheds o’er all the sunshine7
                        
                        That is bred of pleasant thoughts ;8
                        
                        And with pulse that beats unfevered,9
                        
                        Fancy every object notes,10
                        
                        Till each individual aspect11
                        
                        In a sea of beauty floats.12
                        Then the present is before me,13
                        
                        Standing in its field of power,14
                        
                        Till at last the past steals o’er me15
                        
                        As from clouds the falling shower,16
                        
                        While its memories restore me17
                        
                        To another scene and hour.18
                        One brief glimpse at things familiar19
                        
                        To the visions of our youth—20
                        
                        One quaint view of objects common21
                        
                        To our early sense of truth—22
                        
                        One glance at the alien corn-fields23
                        
                        Bringeth back our boyhood’s ruth !24
                        Oh it is a mystic wonder25
                        
                        This same memory of the eye,26
                        
                        That with no loud sound of thunder27
                        
                        Pierceth our humanity,28
                        
                        But with force that keeps time under29
                        
                        Rouseth up old sympathy !30
                        One small flower, whose shape and colour31
                        
                        Noteless to all others is,32
                        
                        Brings a vivid recollection33
                        
                        Of some bygone vale or bliss :34
                        
                        Here a bier, and there a bridal—35
                        
                        There a tear, and here a kiss !36
                        Even upon yon wall the shadow,37
                        
                        As it falleth, calls to mind38
                        
                        Shades of woods where I, a truant,39
                        
                        On the thick green boughs could find40
                        
                        Joys that had no taste of sorrow41
                        
                        With their fruitage intertwined.42
                        Often, as we linger idly43
                        
                        O’er new paths, we come upon44
                        
                        Something—field, or hill, or streamlet,45
                        
                        Windmill, glittering in the sun—46
                        
                        That we knew by frequent visits47
                        
                        Long ago, ere youth was gone.48
                        Yet these scenes are strangers to us,49
                        
                        Though their forms are old and dear ;50
                        
                        And Eye-Memory, through and through us,51
                        
                        Runneth like some liquid clear52
                        
                        That is poured from jewelled chalice53
                        
                        By a spirit hovering near.54
                        It were well if recollections55
                        
                        Of the past were always drawn56
                        
                        From the eyes, whose retrospections57
                        
                        Have no tempest in their dawn :58
                        
                        Happy he whose calm reflections59
                        
                        Pass not the paternal lawn !60
                        Happier still if our Eye-Memory,61
                        
                        After travelling far, bring home62
                        
                        Sweet experiences—telling63
                        
                        Of the sadness and the gloom64
                        
                        We have aided in dispelling65
                        
                        From some fainting neighbour’s room !66