BETA

A Memory.

Sometimes in halls of beauty and of love,1
Where many fair and many proud ones be,2
And where the reckless and the thoughtless move,3
I picture thee.4
Thy memory comes to my lone heart enfolden5
In strains of sweetest music ; murmuring low,6
Strange tales of dames and knights in pageants
olden,
7
And courtly show.8
The lonely wind that sighs in murmurs deep9
Round some old ruin dear to love and fame,10
Luring the passer-by to pause and weep,11
Might breathe thy name !12
I picture thee the spirit of some spot13
Beautifully haunted by an olden spell ;14
Some waving wood, or silver-streaming grot,15
Or perfumed dell.16
Ever retiring in thy simple grace,17
A gentler, dearer presence, never shone18
From mortal figure or from lady’s face,19
Than thy dear one.20
A very rose-bud to the gazer’s eye,21
Yet to the sense thou art a blooming flow’r,22
Pouring thy fragrance on the summer sky23
At evening hour.24
Ever in dreams thou com’st. I may not trace25
In waking hours the presence of that spell26
Which holds me bound with such a winning grace.27
—Farewell !28