Surely the old, dead, dusty ears
Would hear; the old drowsy eyes would glow,
Old memories come; old hopes and fears,
And time restore the long ago.
THE GENTLE LADY
So beautiful, so dainty-sweet,
So like a lyre's delightful touch--
A beauty perfect, ripe, complete
That art's own hand could only smutch
And nature's self not better much.