Ah, dear! how memory stirs,
Of meadows and soft-voiced thrushes
Of winds that sang amid firs,
Or piped on the cool, damp rushes.
Of twilights and early dawns,
And times when the earth is fairest;
Of gardens with dewy lawns,
And flowers when their scent is rarest.
Of noontide and humming bees,
That gather the love of roses;
Of night-time and sighing trees,
And clouds where the moon reposes.
And, dearest,— of just we two,
Alone in this world of splendour,
Where everything lived for you,
In glorious, sweet surrender.