This is the path he used to take,
    That ended at a rose-porched door:
    He takes it now for oldtime's sake;
    And love of yore.

    The blue mertensia, by the stone,
    Lifts questioning eyes, that seem to say,
    'Why is it now you walk alone
    On this dim way?"

    And then a wild bird, from a bough,
    Out of his heart the answer takes:
    "He walks alone with memory now
    And heart that breaks.

    "And Loss and Longing, witches, who
    Usurp the wood and change to woe
    The dream of happiness he knew
    Long, long ago.

    "The faery princess, from whose gaze
    The blue mertensia learned that look,
    Retaining still beside these ways
    The joy it took."

    He listens, conscious of no part
    In wildwood question and reply
    The wood, from out its mighty heart,
    Heaves one deep sigh.

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