IV
Long ago we walked together in a garden;
It was evening and the leaves fell down;
Silently we passed over the dead, the fallen,
Over flowers and branches that were withered there—
And the air was weary with the scent of other days,
A fragrance faint and pensive.
The sighing of the leaves beneath our feet
Were as old dreams retold,
Stirred from the golden quilt of memory,
And farewells rang their whispering bells,
Tolling the days away.
But peace lay folded between our hands
As we thought of the vanishing years
And of love dying in the arms of love.