Sonnetviii. Come To Me Often, Sportive Memory

Come to me often, sportive Memory: Thy hands are full of flowers; thy voice is sweet; Thine innocent uncareful look doth meet The solitary cravings of mine eye; I cannot let thee flit unheeded by, For I have gentle words wherewith to greet Thy welcome visits: pleasant hours are fleet, So let us sit and talk the sand--glass dry. Dear visitant, who comest, dark and light, Morning and evening, and with merry voice Tellest of new occasion to rejoice; And playest round me in the fairy night Like a quaint spirit, on the moonlight beams Threading the mazy labyrinth of dreams.