Memory
John Ireland, William Blake
Memory, hither come
And tune your merry notes;
And while upon the wind
Your music floats
I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass
I'll drink of the clear stream
And hear the linnet's song
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along;
And when night comes I'll go
To places fit for woe
Walking along the darkened valley
With silent melancholy