“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