By mazy labyrinths of sweet discourse;
These things can never die—there is no death
Of happy feelings, gentlest sympathies,
And that delicious sadness, whose deep tints
Fall like soft shadows o'er the sunny past.
Therefore in years to come a calm, clear voice,
Like a stray note of some forgotten tune,
Shall rise from out these happy autumn days,
Waking a melody of gentler thoughts
Through all the silent chambers of my heart."