AN ODE OF ODOURS.
(A Poem of Recognition.)
Oh, what is this faint perfume that I smell,
And smelling seem, somehow, to know so well?
What recollections should it start again,
What memories of the past bring in its train?
Is it a whiff of country come to-day,
Of mangel-wurzels, or of new-mown hay?
Or was it when She witched me with a glance