XXVI

There is a little path among the trees That leads me to a quiet garden-plot; Thither I go for the content of thought, Dreams, and the quiet joy of reveries; And in this place my simple melodies Are sung with you beside me—fancies caught From the swift moment, as if one forgot The truth that cries: "Imaginings are these!"

So have I with the magic of the mind Called and compelled you to my lonely heart; And never have you failed me. Now I find No more the anguish of dead days; apart From you I faltered; at your side I gain Gladness from sorrow, and peace out of pain!