Oft I remember those whom I have known
       &nbsp In other days, to whom my heart was led
       &nbsp As by a magnet, and who are not dead,
       &nbsp But absent, and their memories overgrown
With other thoughts and troubles of my own,
       &nbsp As graves with grasses are, and at their head
       &nbsp The stone with moss and lichens so o'erspread,
       &nbsp Nothing is legible but the name alone.
And is it so with them? After long years,
       &nbsp Do they remember me in the same way,
       &nbsp And is the memory pleasant as to me?
I fear to ask; yet wherefore are my fears?
       &nbsp Pleasures, like flowers, may wither and decay,
       &nbsp And yet the root perennial may be.