FOREWORD.
If be it so—by chance—this little book should claim for me
a friend, who, sometime, when I’m far away, shall search
and find a bit of rosemary, swept through with light, and
scatter it among the grasses where I sleep,
Then, then will I have found the garland I had hoped to
win, and from that quiet spot, that Land of Youth,
where my immortal spirit dwells, I’ll send a little wandering
prayer of gratitude, that heart hath answered
heart.