Strangers words. Not mine.

“A Stranger came – a Stranger met –

They passed, and for aye-

Yet one, perchance, remember yet

Those moments passed away.

They woke a violin sweet and vain,

He never thought to dream again.


And you lone cloud, whose passing shade

Floats on the summer wind –

Soon from the sun-lit heaven shall fade,

And leave no trace behind –

Thus, in the hour that bade them part,

His memory vanished from her heart.


So be it still – the days are past

Of reckless, wild desire,

Yet must be cherish to the last,

and love – what all admire –

And bear, through sunshine and through storm,

That gentle heart, and lovely form.”


– Henry Howard Brownell



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: