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64
ODE TO MEMORY.
Or a garden bowered close
With pleachéd alleys of the trailing rose,
Long alleys falling down to twilight grots,
Or opening upon level plots
Of crownéd lilies, standing near
Purplespikéd lavender:
Whither in after life retired
From brawling storms,
From weary wind,
With youthful fancy reinspired,
We may hold converse with all forms
Of the manysided mind,
The few whom passion hath not blinded,
Subtlethoughted, myriadminded.
My friend, with thee to live alone,
Methinks were better than to own
A crown, a sceptre, and a throne.
O strengthen me, enlighten me!
I faint in this obscurity,
Thou dewy dawn of memory.
With pleachéd alleys of the trailing rose,
Long alleys falling down to twilight grots,
Or opening upon level plots
Of crownéd lilies, standing near
Purplespikéd lavender:
Whither in after life retired
From brawling storms,
From weary wind,
With youthful fancy reinspired,
We may hold converse with all forms
Of the manysided mind,
The few whom passion hath not blinded,
Subtlethoughted, myriadminded.
My friend, with thee to live alone,
Methinks were better than to own
A crown, a sceptre, and a throne.
O strengthen me, enlighten me!
I faint in this obscurity,
Thou dewy dawn of memory.
