Ada, do you remember that bright day When, through the green glades of the quiet wood, We boys and girls went laughing on our way, Over the brook, to where the beech-trees stood? Not many months ago it was, and June Lavished her royal beauty everywhere; The wood-thrush sang his wildest, sweetest tune, And we were happy as the day was fair. And in that sloping meadow, near the brook, You picked for me a gentle little flower; The emblem of fidelity I took, Both smiled, and I have kept it till this hour. Yes, though 'tis faded now, though its soft blue Has lost the freshness which it once possessed, Yet your fair hand has given the flower a hue Far lovelier, dear, than when it bloomed unpressed. It breathes a fragrance which, like some old tune, Calls up delicious memories of the spot Where, on that pleasant summer afternoon, You gave to me a sweet forget-me-not. |