  To F. W. B. Family Those scarlet days come back to me to-night Across the span of many happy years— Dreams, haunted by the music of the spheres, And glowing skies of gold and chrysolite. The world of science bursting on my sight, And words of wisdom falling on my ears, The rhythmic thought of poets, priests, and seers, Wrought in my life a spell of wild delight. Not all: three figures—Faith and Hope and Love— I see them still through years of mist and haze— Hope crowned with light, and Faith of godly ken; And Love was like a meek unconscious dove. Dear God, although I count those scarlet days, To-night I would not have them back again. |
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