Memories, the Food of Love

When shall we come to that delightful day,
When each can say to each, "Dost thou remember?"
Let us fill urns with rose-leaves in our May,
And hive the thrifty sweetness for December!

For who may deem the throne of love secure,
Till o'er the Past the conqueror spreads his reign?
That only land where human joys endure,
That dim elysium where they live again!

Swell'd by a thousand streams the deeps that float
The bark on which we risk our all, should be.
A rill suffices for the idler's boat:
It needs an ocean for the argosy.

The heart's religion keeps, apart from time,
The sacred burial-ground of happy hours;
The past is holy with the haunting chime
Of dreamy sabbath bells from distant towers.

Oft dost thou ask me, with that bashful eye,
"If I shall love thee evermore as now!"
Feasting as fondly on the sure reply,
As if my lips were virgin of the vow.

Sweet does that question, "Wilt thou love me?" fall
Upon the heart that has forsworn its will:
But when the words hereafter we recall,
"Dost thou remember?" shall be sweeter still.