I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.
Attribution disputed; shown as originally published.
It romanticizes death as escape from daily life.
His death which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell.
I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis li…
And there is ev'n a happiness That makes the heart afraid!
Ce qui fait le poete, n'est-ce pas l'amour, la recherche desesperee du moindre rayon de soleil d'autrefois jouant sur le parquet d'une chambre d'enfant?
No poet is ever completely lost. He has the secret of his childhood safe with him, like some secret cave in which he can kneel. And, when we read his poetry, w…
Happy those early days, when I Shined in my angel-infancy! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race.