Hark! an echo in the distance, as of silver-slippered feet.
Why should I evade its coming, when ’tis such a little thing?
Just a tiny recollection that my thoughts have given wing.
Soon, too soon, ’twill overtake me, see! ’tis gaining on me fast—
In my soul the rose leaves quiver—withered rose leaves of the past.
It is useless to dissemble, further fleeing is in vain,
’Round my heart I feel the tight’ning of a slender silken chain.
All the past spreads out around me, as if by the Hand above,
So I turn, and find I’m standing face to face with my first love.
