To L —

Thou that wast once my loved and loving friend, A friend no more, I had forgot thee quite, Why hast thou come to trouble my delight With memories ? Oh ! I had clean made end Of all that time, I had made haste to send My soul into red places, and to light A torch of pleasure to burn up my night. What I have woven hast thou come to rend ? In silent acres of forgetful flowers, Crowned as of old with happy daffodils, Long time my wounded soul has been a-straying, Alas! it has chanced now on sombre hours Of hard remembrances and sad delaying, Leaving green valleys for the bitter hills