Dost thou remember, friend of vanish'd days,
How in the golden land of love and song,
We met in April in the crowded ways
Of that fair city where the soul is strong,
Aye! strong as fate, for good or evil praise?
And how the lord whom all the world obeys,—
The lord of light to whom the stars belong,—
Illumed the track that led thee through the throng?
Dost thou remember, in the wooded dale,
Beyond the town of Dante the Divine,
How all the air was flooded as with wine?
And how the lark, to drown the nightingale,
Peal'd out sweet notes? I live to tell the tale.
But thou? Oblivion signs thee with a sign!