Love's Demesne

Old memories come trooping down
 The vistas of the years;
In blue-girt robes of pleasure clad
 Or garbed in tears.

Down from the days when hope was young
 And sorrow never born,
My thoughts sweep o'er remembered scenes
 Unto this morn.

Though motley company they are
 Of smile or tear or frown,
They hold aloft the burnished gold
 Of my heart's crown.

For through it all and over all
 There gleams the light serene,
On purpled walls and crimson heights
 In love's demesne.