Deep in the heart of the glowing embers?
We dream no dream of the passing pleasures
That held us thralls in an idle hour,
We count no riches in heaping measures
Nor pulse again with a futile power—
Nay, a verdant tree or a crimson flower
Is the jewel then that the memory treasures.
Oh, these are the visions that come long after
When face to face with our own sad soul;
We see a tree in the smoky rafter,