You asked me for my literary rubbish. I shall take you at your word, and I take this opportunity to be rid of it. Do with it as you will. I have a dislike for old, scribbled papers, especially those written by myself.

You’re here again — and of a sudden

A warmth long gone floods my dead heart,

And all I thought forgot, unbidden

Returns, of me becomes a part…

Just as spring’s breath may soft come stealing

Upon the air on late fall’s day

And rouse in us a vanished feeling

Of life, of something young and gay —

So of past years do I recover

The richness, and on your sweet face

With all the ardor of a lover

In reawakened rapture gaze.

Too long apart, drawn are we nearer

Once more — you’re here, ’tis not a dream!

Sounds, ne’er within me stilled, the clearer

At sight of you and louder seem.

Remembrance? — No! The rustling pages

Of life turn fast — life’s full again.

Your loveliness stays ever changeless,