MEMORY, HITHER COME

 Memory, hither come
	And tune your merry notes;
 And while upon the wind
	Your music floats,
 I'll pore upon the stream,
 Where sighing lovers dream,
 And fish for fancies as they pass
 Within the watery glass.

 I'll drink of the clear stream,
 	And hear the linnet's song,
 And there I'll lie and dream
 	The day along;
 And when night comes I'll go
 To places fit for woe,
 Walking along the darkened valley,
 With silent melancholy.

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The Beauty of Touch
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