Poems (Charlotte Allen)/Mementos
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MEMENTOS.
I love mementos,
Though they 're fragile things; for they speak of joys
Departed; of absent friends, and happy
Moments fled forever: and though I know
These little "mementos of love" are frail,
I can but love them; true we cannot quite
Forget old friends and former times, within
Our memory's tablet they 're engraved; years
May pass on, time in his reckless course may
Changes make, but from our mental store-house
Ne'er can be removed the sweet remembrance
Of former friendship and of bye-gone
Days. Mementos serve to strengthen in our
Minds that sweet remembrance; we love to look
Upon a gift, even if 'tis trifling,
Presented by some valued friend; and 'tis
Doubly dear, when perhaps the giver sleeps
In death; 't is not alone of joy's bright hours
Mementos speak; they tell alike of days
Of sadness, and of hopes and fears; all, all
Are dear to mem'ry; we would not forget
E'en saddened moments, though melancholy
May tinge the hour of retrospection. Like
Some sepulchral lamp that casts its faint, but
Hallowed lustre o'er the shrines of former
Days, such are mementos; the cherished types
Of "auld lang syne."
Though they 're fragile things; for they speak of joys
Departed; of absent friends, and happy
Moments fled forever: and though I know
These little "mementos of love" are frail,
I can but love them; true we cannot quite
Forget old friends and former times, within
Our memory's tablet they 're engraved; years
May pass on, time in his reckless course may
Changes make, but from our mental store-house
Ne'er can be removed the sweet remembrance
Of former friendship and of bye-gone
Days. Mementos serve to strengthen in our
Minds that sweet remembrance; we love to look
Upon a gift, even if 'tis trifling,
Presented by some valued friend; and 'tis
Doubly dear, when perhaps the giver sleeps
In death; 't is not alone of joy's bright hours
Mementos speak; they tell alike of days
Of sadness, and of hopes and fears; all, all
Are dear to mem'ry; we would not forget
E'en saddened moments, though melancholy
May tinge the hour of retrospection. Like
Some sepulchral lamp that casts its faint, but
Hallowed lustre o'er the shrines of former
Days, such are mementos; the cherished types
Of "auld lang syne."