She has made me wayside posies: here they stand, <br />Bringing fresh memories of where they grew. <br />As new-come travellers from a world we knew <br />Wake every while some image of their land, <br />So these whose buds our woodland breezes fanned <br />Bring to my room the meadow where they blew, <br />The brook-side cliff, the elms where wood-doves coo-- <br />And every flower is dearer for her hand. <br /> <br />Oh blossoms of the paths she loves to tread, <br />Some grace of her is in all thoughts you bear: <br />For in my memories of your homes that were <br />The old sweet loneliness they kept is fled, <br />And would I think it back I find instead <br />A presence of my darling mingling there.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-has-made-me-wayside-posies/
