Sweet rosemary within the lane

The while the day is warm and clear,

And ne’er a thought of bitter rain

Or the road-side sere.

But there are flowers more dear to me

That time can never set apart—

The fragrant blooms of memory

That grow within the heart.

In Days of Old

Of all the ages’ gain, the ages’ loss,

A wealth of wonders and so much away—

When now hears one the woodland elves at play,

Or angry dryads where tall tree-tops toss.

No more they lightly tread the dewy moss

As danced they through cool haunts in ecstasy;

But rank and lost the paths in lone decay

Where fairy footsteps once were wont to cross.

O, happy Greeks, who knew the gods so well,

To you I burn my sacrificial fire!

Again reveal the mystic hidden rune

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