XV.
Here I leave thee, little stream,
Lost, like much I dearest deem,
In my life’s oft-shifting dream.
XVI.
Lost! but let me backward haste,
I have little time to waste
In my ramble through the past.
XVII.
Words are cumbersome, at times,
Thought could visit fifty climes,
While I’m seeking useless rhymes.
XVIII.
I am back upon the lawn,
That I’ve often stood upon,
But—is every body gone?