Anonymous British

Memory Garlands

Years may roll on, and manhood's brow grow cold, And life's dull winter spread its dark'ning pall O'er cherish'd hopes; yet time cannot withhold A precious boon which mem'ry gives to all: -- Fond recollection, when the tale is told Which forms the record of life's festival, Recalls the pleasures of youth's opening scene, And age seems young -- rememb'ring what hath been. Even as children in their happiest hours, Gath'ring the blossoms which around them grow, Will sometimes turn and strew the early flowers Over the grave of one -- there lying low -- Who watched their infancy -- so we; for ours Are kindred feelings: we as gently throw Our mem'ry garlands on the closing grave Of joys we lov'd -- yet, loving, could not save.