There is a little path among the trees
That leads me to a quiet garden-plot;
Thither I go for the content of thought,
Dreams, and the quiet joy of reveries;
And in this place my simple melodies
Are sung with you beside me — fancies caught
From the swift moment, as if one forgot
The truth that cries: “Imaginings are these!”
So have I with the magic of the mind
Called and compelled you to my lonely heart;
And never have you failed me. Now I find
No more the anguish of dead days; apart
From you I faltered; at your side I gain
Gladness from sorrow, and peace out of pain!