My mind lets go a thousand things,
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour--
'T was noon by yonder village tower,
And on the last blue noon in May--
The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.
And really, which memory is more valuable?
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8 comments:
So lovely...especially this image of the wind:
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.
I love the delicacy of that.
Which memory? The scent memory! Scent memory can give you chills.
"The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;"
-- now only a poet can write those things. I agree with Tara, there is such delicate movement in the lines here. :) Thanks for sharing
beautiful imagery
Myra took my words. I love the idea of wind crisping the brook. Thank you for the beautiful poem.
I agree with the others -- great poem, Sally!
Very excellent choice, Sally.
This is wonderful! Thanks for sharing it.
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