Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year <br />Already feels old Winter's icy breath; <br />As with cold hands he scatters on her bier <br />The faded glories of her autumn wreath. <br />As fleetly as the summer's sunshine past, <br />The winter's snow must melt; and the young Spring, <br />Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last, <br />And in her train the hour of parting bring. <br />But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart <br />Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place, <br />Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart, <br />Yet, let not time my memory quite efface. <br />'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home <br />To which you welcomed me, will be as gay, <br />As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam, <br />Once more, upon life's weary onward way. <br />But oh! if ever by the warm hearth's blaze, <br />Where beaming eyes and kindred souls are met, <br />Your fancy wanders back to former days, <br />Let my remembrance hover round you yet. <br />Then, while before you glides time's shadowy train, <br />Of forms long vanished, days and hours long gone, <br />Perchance my name will be pronounced again, <br />In that dear circle where I once was one. <br />Think of me then, nor break kind memory's spell, <br />By reason's censure coldly o'er me cast, <br />Think only, that I loved ye passing well! <br />And let my follies slumber with the past.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-miss-sarah-siddons/
