Memory, out of the mist, in a long slow ripple Breaks, blindly, against the shore. - Alfred Noyes

The Flower of Old Japan. The Flower above all other flowers, The Flower that never dies; Before whose throne the scented hours Offer their sacrifice; The Flower that here on earth below Reveals the heavenly plan; But only little children know The Flower of Old Japan.

He was once our trumpeter, now his bugle's dumb, Pile your arms beneath it, for the owlet light is come, We'll wander through the roses where we marched of old with Peterkin, We'll search the summer sunset where the Hybla beehives hum, And — if we meet a fairy there — we'll ask for news of Peterkin.

Enough of dreams! No longer mock The burdened hearts of men! Not on the cloud, but on the rock Build thou thy faith again; O range no more the realms of air, Stoop to the glen-bound streams; Thy hope was all too like despair: Enough, enough of dreams.