Classic Poem

I found a leaf of woodruff in a book:
Gone was its scent, and lost its pristine glory;
Each slender bladelet wore a dingy look,
And all was blanched and hoary.

And yet this withered leaf a spell possessed,
Which worked upon me in mysterious measure,
And sent old memories thronging through my breast
Of mingled pain and pleasure.

Of childhood's days that knew no thought of care;
Of hours that passed on wings of rainbow fleetness;
Of hours that passed on wings of rainbow fleetness;
Of odours floating on the wanton air
Sad from their very sweetness;

Of woods that wore a garb of summer green;
Of knee-deep ferns, and nooks of shady stillness;
Of streams that glimmered in the full moon's sheen,
And mirrored back its fulness;

Of lazy baskings on the lone hillside
In the fierce glow of July's sultry weather;
Of twilight wanderings where the enamoured tide
Crept up to kiss the heather;

Of voices still beneath the churchyard sod;
Bright eyes that glistened from behind long lashes;
Warm beauty early given back to God;
Red lips that now are ashes!

And many other memories, gay and grave,
The woodruff brought in life-like guise before me;
Until I marvelled how a leaf could have
Such magic influence o'er me.

Ah, so it is! all that hath ever been
Experienced by the spirit is immortal;
Each hope and joy and grief is hid within
The memory's sacred portal.

And yet the soft glow of a moonlight hour,
A strain of haunting music sweet and olden,
A dream, a bird, a bee, a leaf, a flower,
A sunset rich and golden,

Can fling that portal open; and beyond
Appears the record of each earlier feeling;—
All hopes, all joys, all fears, all musings fond,
In infinite revealing:

Till all the present passes from the sight—
Its cares and woes that make us weary-hearted,
And leaves us basking in the holy light
Of golden days departed.