Ah, dear! how memory stirs,
Of meadows and soft-voiced thrushes
Of winds that sang amid firs,
Or piped on the cool, damp rushes.
Of twilights and early dawns,
And times when the earth is fairest;
Of gardens with dewy lawns,
And flowers when their scent is rarest.
Of noontide and humming bees,
That gather the love of roses;