Little Things. Often, little things we hear Often, little things we see, Waken thoughts that long have slept Deep down in our memory. Strangely slight the circumstance That has force to turn the mind Backward on the path of years, To the loved scenes far behind ! ’Tis the perfume of a flower, Or a quaint old-fashioned tune ; Or a song-bird ’mid the leaves Singing in the sunny June. ’Tis the evening-star, mayhap, In the gloaming silver-bright ; Or a gold and purple cloud Waning in the western light. ’Tis the rustling of a dress, Or a certain tone of voice, That can make the pulses throb, That can bid the heart rejoice. Ah, my heart ! But not of joy Must alone thy history tell, Sorrow, shame, and bitter tears Little things recall as well.