And suddenly we find ourselves astray
In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago—
Or idly dream again upon a day
Of rest we used to know.
I bit an apple but a moment since—
A wilted apple that the worm had spurned.—
Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints
Of good old days returned.—
And so my heart, like some enraptured lute,
Tinkles a tune so tender and complete,