Let me retain the fancy still
That； past the lordly range；
There always shines； in folds of hill；
One spot secure from change！
I trust that yet the tender screen
That shades a certain nook；
Remains； with all its gold and green；
The glory of the brook。
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It hides a secret to the birds
And waters only known：
The letters of two lovely words …
A poem on a stone。
Perhaps the lady of the past
Upon these lines may light；
The purest verses； and the last
That I may ever write。
She need not fear a word of blame …
Her tale the flowers keep …
The wind that heard me breathe her name
Has been for years asleep。
But in the night； and when the rain
The troubled torrent fills；
I often think I see again
The river in the hills；
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And when the day is very near；
And birds are on the wing；
My spirit fancies it can hear
The song I cannot sing。
The End