I should not once have thought my life was sad,
My pathway lonely,
I should have toiled on singing, had I had
That memory only.
Now sometimes when the evening turns to night
Before the stars arise,
The memory flits a ghost, and charnel light
Glows out of empty eyes.
There is a place, a place I needs must haunt,
While all the world’s asleep:
There lies a murdered memory, stark and gaunt,
There my heart stays to weep.
104
