She Has Made Me Wayside Posies

She has made me wayside posies: here they stand, Bringing fresh memories of where they grew. As new-come travellers from a world we knew Wake every while some image of their land, So these whose buds our woodland breezes fanned Bring to my room the meadow where they blew, The brook-side cliff, the elms where wood-doves coo-- And every flower is dearer for her hand. Oh blossoms of the paths she loves to tread, Some grace of her is in all thoughts you bear: For in my memories of your homes that were The old sweet loneliness they kept is fled, And would I think it back I find instead A presence of my darling mingling there.