Page 44

THE MEMORIES OF THE YESTERDAYS

The silver-haired grandmother and snow-white headed grandfather
stroll with The World's Best Poetry through the far-stretching
meadows of memory--meadows of gold and emerald, meadows purple
and bloodred, where the green grasses wave, where the cowslip and but-
tercup gleam, where the sweet clover grows and the poppy bushes scarlet.
They are transported to the realms of the long ago; they live over again
--in yearning and thought -- the many, many yesterdays, and look to the
to-morrow with patient resignation and loving faith.

And thus as in memory's bark they shall guide
To visit the scenes of their childhood anew. --Moore.