Awakens1 an old memory， and say，
Your strength， that is so lofty and fierce and kind，
It might call up a new age， calling to mind
The queens that were imagined long ago，
Is but half yours： he kneaded in the dough2
Through the long years of youth， and who would have thought
It all， and more than it all， would come to naught3，
And that dear words meant nothing？ But enough，
For when we have blamed the wind we can blame love；
Or， if there needs be more， be nothing said
That would be harsh for children that have strayed.