It’s dusk, the sun has set, the west is still All gold and red; but shadows gather, lights Are blinking on, and pools of yellow spill From lamps and mix with indigo of nights My memory’s fond scenes, unchanged until This day, I came again in search of sights Of that magic old time, the house, the hill, The streets of childhood’s fields; all gone, just blights All starkly new; perhaps it’s just as well. I went to seek pictures two score years old And found a canvas layered thick with paint So many lives and loves, all piled pell mell. No traces of mine; no matter, safely hold Them all unchanged in mind; so what if faint?