Though viewed through mist of tears, the earliest scenes
Are brightest still whatever intervenes.
The leafy songs that thrill the listening wood,
And answering birds that make sweet interlude,
The sylvan lakes illuminated by
The rainbows arching all our summer sky,
And swans that drift along the shore at rest—
A string of pearls upon a swelling breast.”
Ranging amid the garden groves of youth,
The luring voice grew softer, till in sooth