Again, as always, when the shadows fall, In that sweet space between the dark and day, I leave the present and its fretful claims And seek the dim past where my memories stay. I dream an old, forgotten, far-off dream, And think old thoughts and live old scenes anew, Till suddenly I reach the heart of Spring— The spring that brought me you! I see again a little woody lane, The moonlight rifting golden through the trees;I hear the plaintive chirp of drowsy bird Lulled dreamward by a tender, vagrant breeze;I hold your hand, I look into your eyes, I touch your lips,—oh, peerless, matchless dower! Oh, Memory thwarting Time and Space and Death! Oh, Little Perfect Hour!