Where Do We Fly?

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!