Frances Anne Kemble (1809–1893)

WHENE’ER I recollect the happy time

When you and I held converse dear together,

There come a thousand thoughts of sunny weather,

Of early blossoms, and the fresh year’s prime;

Your memory lives forever in my mind

With all the fragrant beauties of the spring,

With od’rous lime and silver hawthorn twined,

And many a noonday woodland wandering.

There ’s not a thought of you, but brings along

Some sunny dream of river, field, and sky;

’T is wafted on the blackbird’s sunset song,

Or some wild snatch of ancient melody.

And, as I date it still, our love arose

’Twixt the last violet and the earliest rose.