Remembrance, what wilt thou with me? The year <br />Declined; in the still air the thrush piped clear, <br />The languid sunshine did incurious peer <br />Among the thinned leaves of the forest sere. <br /> <br />We were alone, and pensively we strolled, <br />With straying locks and fancies, when, behold <br />Her turn to let her thrilling gaze enfold, <br />And ask me in her voice of living gold, <br /> <br />Her fresh young voice, 'What was thy happiest day?' <br />I smiled discreetly for all answer, and <br />Devotedly I kissed her fair white hand. <br /> <br />-Ah, me! The earliest flowers, how sweet are they! <br />And in how exquisite a whisper slips <br />The earliest 'Yes' from well-beloved lips!<br /><br />Paul Verlaine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nevermore-16/
