Our chosen day, to Memory dedicate:
To Memory, goddess great,
A Proserpine that mid the dip and swell
Of her wide meadows dim with asphodel
Keeps aye one circle blest
Lit with purpureal light unlike the rest:
The field of our first youth, as luminous
Through soberer recollections, as the place
Where looked the Dardan on his father’s face
In the land nebulous.