Recessional

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Recessional

Consider me a memory⁠—a dream

That passed away,

Or yet, a flower that has blown and shattered⁠—

In a day;

For passion sleeps, alas, and keeps no vigil

With the years,

And wakens to no conjuring

Of orison or tears.

Consider me a melody

That served its simple turn,

Or but the residue of fire

That settles in the urn,

For love defies pure reasoning

And undeterred flows

Within⁠—without

The vassal heart!

Its reasoning⁠—

Who knows?