To James Whitcomb Riley, In Affectionate Memory Of Other Days

Our dearest joys forever flow
From fountains of the Long Ago,
That from the heights of pleasures past
Flood all the present valleys vast,
And with eternal glees provide
The future's endless ocean tide.

* * * * *

To ope each cage where a heartless age
Hath chained the birds of singing,
Till Love's own glee that is fond and free
Shall laugh where they are winging,-
Such is my wish. 'Tis true, hold I,
That songs, like birds, in bondage die.