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We rush into the very bowels of the keep itself, snorting and puffing defiance to the memoried sternness of the grim warriors who once held the place against all intruders.

Yet to the Roses memoried fragrance clings, And in their faded petals I renew The first fresh grace of unforgotten things.

Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight, Grant that children laugh there now among its green and gold— Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweetness, Locking one bright dream away for light when they are old!

There are doors in your heart that are shut to me, And behind them dwellers I cannot know; And my soul has windows that open wide On a ghostly, memoried country-side, That—lady of mine—you never will see, Where your voice will never be heard, nor your footsteps go.

I sometimes watch the lips of other women And think of all the kisses they have known; I sometimes touch the hands of other women In wonder at the memoried palms they own....