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Paul Laurence Dunbar - To E. H. K.
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ON THE RECEIPT OF A FAMILIAR POEM

  To me, like hauntings of a vagrant breath
    From some far forest which I once have known,
    The perfume of this flower of verse is blown.
  Tho` seemingly soul-blossoms faint to death,
  Naught that with joy she bears e`er withereth.
    So, tho` the pregnant years have come and flown,
  Lives come and gone and altered like mine own,
  This poem comes to me a shibboleth:
  Brings sound of past communings to my ear,
    Turns round the tide of time and bears me back
    Along an old and long untraversed way;
  Makes me forget this is a later year,
    Makes me tread o`er a reminiscent track,
      Half sad, half glad, to one forgotten day!
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