In My Song You Catch

Faded Smiles Oft Linger In The Face, While Grief's First Flakes Fall Silent On The Heart!

Imagination In Poetry, As Distinguished From Mere Fancy Is The Transfiguring Of The Real Or Actual To The Ideal.

In Vain Would Science Scan And Trace Firmly Her Aspect. All The While, There Gleams Upon Her Far-off Face A Vague Unfathomable Smile.

Is Life Worth Living? Yes, So Long As Spring Revives The Year, And Hails Us With The Cuckoo's Song, To Show That She Is Here.

We Come From The Earth, We Return To The Earth, And In Between We Garden.