But a faint delicious essence floats as out of memory’s room.

Like a zephyr blown from heaven some sweet message to impart,

Comes a fragile recollection down the by-path to my heart.

Fragile did I say? So fragile that the lace-wrought butterfly

Would not tilt its wings to bear it back from earth into the sky.

Yet perplexed as to its mission down the pathway I retreat,

Hark! an echo in the distance, as of silver-slippered feet.

Why should I evade its coming, when ’tis such a little thing?

Just a tiny recollection that my thoughts have given wing.

Soon, too soon, ’twill overtake me, see! ’tis gaining on me fast—

In my soul the rose leaves quiver—withered rose leaves of the past.

It is useless to dissemble, further fleeing is in vain,

’Round my heart I feel the tight’ning of a slender silken chain.

All the past spreads out around me, as if by the Hand above,

So I turn, and find I’m standing face to face with my first love.