This Is The Heart'S Own Day: With Dreaming Eyes Life Seems To Look Away Beyond The Skies Into Some Long-Gone May. A May That Can Not Die; Across Whose Hills Youth'S Heart Goes Singing By, 'Mid Daffodils, With Love The Young And Shy. Love Of The Slender Form And Elvish Face; Who With Uplifted Arm Points To One Place A Place Of Oldtime Charm. Where Once The Lilies Grew For Love To Twine, With Violets, White And Blue, And Columbine, Of Gold And Crimson Hue. Gone Is The Long-Ago; Gone Like The Wind; And Love We Used To Know Sits Dumb And Blind, With Locks Of Winter Snow. And By Him Memory Sits Sketching Back Into The Used-To-Be, In White And Black, One Flower On His Knee. One Rose, Whose Crimson Gleams Like Youth'S Glad Heart, And Fills The Day With Dreams, And Is A Part Of The Old Love It Seems. That Touches With The Tints Of Faeryland This Day; And Makes A Prince Of Samarcand, Of Him, Whose Hand Hers Held In Dreams Long Since.