“Four ducks on a pond, / A grass-bank beyond, / A blue sky of spring, / White clouds on the wing: / What a little thing / To remember for years - / To remember with tears!”
“A man who keeps a diary pays, Due toll to many tedious days; But life becomes eventful - then, His busy hand forgets the pen. Most books, indeed, are records less Of fulness than of emptiness.”
“And in a chair well-known My mother sat, and did not tire With reading all alone. If I should make the slightest sound To show that I'm awake, She'd rise, and lap the blankets round, My pillow softly shake; Kiss me, and turn my face to see The shadows on the wall, And then sing Rousseau's Dream to me, Till fast asleep I fall.”
