Here you will find the Poem Memory of poet Walter Savage Landor
THE MOTHER of the Muses, we are taught, Is Memory: she has left me; they remain, And shake my shoulder, urging me to sing About the summer days, my loves of old. Alas! alas! is all I can reply. Memory has left with me that name alone, Harmonious name, which other bards may sing, But her bright image in my darkest hour Comes back, in vain comes back, call?d or uncall?d. Forgotten are the names of visitors Ready to press my hand but yesterday; Forgotten are the names of earlier friends Whose genial converse and glad countenance Are fresh as ever to mine ear and eye; To these, when I have written and besought Remembrance of me, the word Dear alone Hangs on the upper verge, and waits in vain. A blessing wert thou, O oblivion, If thy stream carried only weeds away, But vernal and autumnal flowers alike It hurries down to wither on the strand.
