From “Sonnets in Shadow”
THERE is such power even in smallest things
  To bring the dear past back; a flower’s tint,
  A snatch of some old song, the fleeting glint
Of sunbeams on the wave—each vivid brings

The lost days up, as from the idle strings
  Of wind-harp sad a breeze evokes the hint
  Of antique tunes. A glove which keeps...