Souvenir

Even as a garden, full of branch and blooth,
Seen in a looking-glass appears more fair
With boughs suspended in a magic air,
More spacious and more radiant than the truth,

So I remember thee, my happy youth,
And smile to look upon the days that were,
As they had never told of doubt or care,
As I had never wept for grief or ruth.

So, were our spirits destined to endure,
So, were the after-life a promise sure,
And not the mocking mirage of our death,

Through all eternity might heaven appear
The still, the vast, the radiant souvenir
Of one unchanging moment known on earth.