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Though I may hold /Those days' fair hands no more,/ Though i may kiss, but in my dreams/ A rose's loveliness/ Though all the present breathes of what has been,/ And sweetly-sadly sihngs of ended things, / And pain is mingled with the beauty of it alll./ Yet I would never wish that there should be / A forgetting and a folding up of memory.
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Though I may hold /Those days' fair hands no more,/ Though i may kiss, but in my dreams/ A rose's loveliness/ Though all the present breathes of what has been,/ And sweetly-sadly sihngs of ended things, / And pain is mingled with the beauty of it alll./ Yet I would never wish that there should be / A forgetting and a folding up of memory.
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