Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the flowers of yesteryear, <br />And looking back we smile to see life's bright red roses reappear, <br />The little sprigs of mignonette that smiled upon us as we passed, <br />The pansy and the violet, too sweet, we thought those days, to last. <br /> <br />The gentle mother by the door caresses still her lilac blooms, <br />And as we wander back once more we seem to smell the old perfumes, <br />We seem to live again the joys that once were ours so long ago <br />When we were little girls and boys, with all the charms we used to know. <br /> <br />But living things grow old and fade; the dead in memory remain, <br />In all their splendid youth arrayed, exempt from suffering and pain; <br />The little babe God called away, so many, many years ago, <br />Is still a little babe to-day, and I am glad that this is so. <br /> <br />Time has not changed the joys we knew; the summer rains or winter snows <br />Have failed to harm the wondrous hue of any dew-kissed bygone rose; <br />In memory 'tis still as fair as when we plucked it for our own, <br />And we can see it blooming there, if anything more lovely grown. <br /> <br />Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the joys of yesteryear, <br />And God has given you and me the power to make them reappear; <br />For we can settle back at night and live again the joys we knew <br />And taste once more the old delight of days when all our skies were blue.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thec-lanes-of-memory/
