But mutely recalled (if at all)

A memory is supposed to be sweet;

Like a plump berry tastes of ripe noondays

Full-blossomed in snug evening rendezvous,

So a memory's fragrance should speak warmth.

Yet winter consumes all, deadly, deafly;

Her cold facts cloy bitterly to the tongues

Of men who'd speak but dare not remember.

If the frost taints, is a draught worth the dregs?