The memory of a little street where narrow walks

Run crooked by its sides - where trees o'er hang

Till trailing branches brush the passersby,

Brings always to my secret heart a pang.

Once, long ago I trod the little street,

To where a cheery low roofed cottage stood,

And starlight gently fell through sighing trees

To show the door where stood one I might greet

As lover greets his love, but that is past

And heavy years have touched the little street

No kindlier than they have touched my heart,

And made love a phantom thing, and fast

The gray mists come, to still the sorrowing beat

Of heart that leapt so gaily once, to walk the little

street.