How can it be that I forget 
The way he phrased my doom, 
When I recall the arabesques 
That carpeted the room?

How can it be that I forget 
His look and mein that hour, 
When I recall I wore a rose, 
And still can smell the flower?

How can it be that I forget 
Those words that were his last, 
When I recall the tune a man 
Was whistling as he passed?

These things are what we keep from life’s 
Supremest joy or pain; 
For memory locks her chaff in bins 
And throws away the grain.