As o'er my hope a greater promise came,
And up the narrow way with steps so fleet
She went, though I remember'd not her name.
She gave them to me, and I vow'd that they
Should lie upon my heart till years had fled,
Till, passing through life's narrow, thorny way,
They'd rest with me when life's own leaves were dead.
And thus I spoke, and then we wrote the deed,
With fervid seal upon the heart's own slab—
Alas! alas! how memory runs to seed!—