Dulciora

Long, long ago I heard a little song,
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,
That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;
And now, in silent hours, I’m often hearing
The small, sweet song that does not die away.

Long, long ago I saw a little flower⁠—
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,
That something dear to me it seemed to say⁠—
A wordless joy that blossomed into being;
And now, in winter days, I’m often seeing
The friendly flower that does not fade away.

Long, long ago we had a little child⁠—
(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)
Into his mother’s eyes and mine he smiled
Unconscious love; warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called! Dear heart, we could not hold him;
Yet secretly your arms and mine infold him⁠—
Our little child who does not go away.

Long, long ago? Ah, memory, make it clear⁠—
(It was not long ago, but yesterday.)
So little and so helpless and so dear⁠—
Let not the song be lost, the flower decay!
His voice, his waking eyes, his gentle sleeping:
The smallest things are safest in thy keeping⁠—
Sweet memory, keep our child with us alway.