This day I dedicated unto you:
I filled each moment of the time with dreams,
Memories, rose-shot, with irridescent gleams.
And now, I find the hours are all too few,
Too soon the lawns are silvered with eve's dew.
A thousand haunting pictures flit — it seems
My mind's a gracious gallery that teems
With exquisite vignettes, forever new.
O rarest day! Your spirit hovering near,
The pressure of your soul upon my own;
None to disturb, no clamoring, petty task!
Your loved whisper breathing past mine ear.
Yourself denied, what better could I ask
Than to commune with memories alone?