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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXV
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THE SAME CONTINUED
 Old memories are sweet, but these are new
 And smart like wounds yet green. But one there is
 Which, for the cause that it was dear to you
 In days which counted upon greater bliss,
 Is fairer now and dearer far than these;
 And this the memory is of some hours spent
 One afternoon when, seated at your knees,
 I made narration (it was middle Lent
 And you with Judas flowers had filled your lap),
 Of the wise secret of these rhymes of mine,
 And gave a promise, which behold I keep,
 To write them out for you, each idle line,
 Throwing you all my rubbish in one heap.
 Poor stuff perhaps. And yet it made you weep.
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