Haec Olim Meminisse

FEBRILE perfumes as of faded roses In the old house speak of love to-day, Love long past; and where the soft day closes, Down the west gleams, golden-red, a ray. Pointing where departed splendor perished, And the path that night shall walk, and hang, On blue boughs of heaven, gold, long cherished — Fruit Hesperian,— that the ancients sang. And to him, who sits there dreaming, musing, At the window in the twilight wan, Like old scent of roses interfusing, Comes a vision of a day that's gone. And he sees Youth, walking brave but dimly 'Mid the roses, in the afterglow; And beside him, like a star seen slimly, Love, who used to meet him long-ago. And again he seems to hear the flowers Whispering faintly of what no one knows — Of the dreams they dreamed there for long hours, Youth and Love, between their hearts a rose. Youth is dead; and Love, oh, where departed! Like the last streak of the dying day, Somewhere yonder, in a world uncharted, Calling him, with memories, away.