Where Do We Fly? / Edith Nesbit

Where do we fly, under deep dark sky?

Over the moors we go,

Over the pool where quiet and cool

Bulrush and sedges grow--

And what was the loveliest thing we met?

Ah--we forget!

We remember though all the firelit glow

Of a great hearth's gleam and glare,

And we looked for a space at each happy face

And the love that was written there.

And that, of all we have looked on yet--

We least forget!