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Oliver Wendell Holmes - A Souvenir
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YES, lady! I can ne`er forget,
That once in other years we met;
Thy memory may perchance recall 
A festal eve, a rose-wreathed hall,
Its tapers` blaze, its mirrors` glance,
Its melting song, its ringing glance;
Why, in thy dream of virgin joy,
Shouldst thou recall a pallid boy?

Thine eye had other forms to seek,
Why rest upon his bashful cheek?
With other tones thy heart was stirred,
Why waste on him a gentle word?
We parted, lady, all night long
Thine ear to thrill with dance and song,
And I to weep that I was born
A thing thou scarce wouldst deign to scorn.

And, lady! now that years have past,
My bark has reached the shore at last; 
The gales that filled her ocean wing,
Have chilled and shrunk thy hasty spring,
And eye to eye, and brow to brow,
I stand before thy presence now;
Thy lip is smoothed, thy voice is sweet,
Thy warm hand offered when we meet.

Nay, lady! `t is not now for me
To droop the lid or bend the knee.
I seek thee, oh thou dost not shun;
I speak, thou listenest like a nun;
I ask thy smile, thy lip uncurls,
Too liberal of its flashing pearls ;
Thy tears, thy lashes sing again,
My Hebe turns to Magdalen !

O changing youth ! that evening hour
Looked down on ours, the bud the flower :
Thine faded in its virgin soil.
And mine was nursed in tears and toil;
Thy leaves were withering:, one by one,
While mine were opening to the sun.
Which now can meet the cold and storm,
With freshest leaf and hardiest form ?

Ay, lady ! that once haughty glance
Still wanders through the glittering dance,
She asks in vain from others` pride,
The charity thine own denied ; 
And as thy fickle lips could learn
To smile and praise, that used to spurn,
So the last offering on thy shrine
Shall be this flattering lay of mine!
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