Classic Poem

If we could have remembrance now
And see, as in the winter's snow
We shall, what's golden in these hours,
The flitting, swift, intangible desires of sea and strand!

Who sees what's golden where we stand?
The sky's too bright, the sapphire sea too green;
I, I am fevered, you cold-sweet, serene,
And . . . and . . .

Yet looking back in days of snow
Unto this olden day that's now,
We'll see all golden in these hours
This memory of ours.