The Holiest Of All Holidays Are Those Kept By Ourselves In Silence And Apart; The Secret Anniversaries Of The Heart, When The Full River Of Feeling Overflows;-- The Happy Days Unclouded To Their Close; The Sudden Joys That Out Of Darkness Start As Flames From Ashes; Swift Desires That Dart Like Swallows Singing Down Each Wind That Blows! White As The Gleam Of A Receding Sail, White As A Cloud That Floats And Fades In Air, White As The Whitest Lily On A Stream, These Tender Memories Are;--A Fairy Tale Of Some Enchanted Land We Know Not Where, But Lovely As A Landscape In A Dream.