Souvenir
Even as a garden, full of branch and blooth.
Seen in a looking-glass appears more fair
With boughs suspended in a magic air.
More spacious and more radiant than the truth.
So I remember thee, my happy youth,
And smile to look upon the days that were.
As they had never told of doubt or care.
As I had never wept for grief or ruth.
So, were our spirits destined to endure.
So, were the after-life a promise sure.
And not the mocking mirage of our death,
Through all eternity might heaven appear
The still, the vast, the radiant souvenir
Of one unchanging moment known on earth.
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