4
Memory's Rosary.
Sweetly breathed their wedded odours, Faintest mist around the scrollThat concealed this string of amber; Love's rosary within my soul.
Thus I stood, to count my blessings On my chaplet, rich and rare;Priceless were those beads of memory, Strung on golden threads of prayer.
Not of scented wood of Persia, Nor of Olive's sacred tree,Neither pearl nor heaven-lit sapphire, Were those beads of memory.
But of clear, translucent amber, Upward washed from distant sea,Whose crystal waves for ever murmur— Murmur, Immortality!
Safe within this buried cloister, Lowly there on bended knee,Sought I to unthread my treasures; Count them on my rosary.
