Voices in the meadow sweet,
Whispers from the Summer skies,
Echoes on the river fleet-
What are they but Memories?
Memories waking happy tears,
Bringing back the yesteryears,
Blossoms at your hurrying feet,
Gentle winds to breathe on you,
Sunbeams on your pathway sweet-
What are they but wishes true?
Picking Wildflowers In The Meadow
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain.
Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise!
Each stamps its image as the other flies.
To the sessions of sweet silent thought,
Summon up remembrance of things past.
The heart hath its own memory like the mind,
And in it are enshrined
The precious keepsakes into which is wrought
The giver's loving thought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
La Belle Dame Sans Mercy
Tristan and Isolde