 | [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson |  |
495
FORGOTTEN.
Once, looking through a little sheaf
Of papers stored from girlhood years,
I chanced upon a faded leaf,
And read, half smiling, half in tears,
Of papers stored from girlhood years,
I chanced upon a faded leaf,
And read, half smiling, half in tears,
This legend on the wrapping set
In delicate girl-writing small;
“Never this day, this leaf, forget.”
And lo! I had forgot it all.
In delicate girl-writing small;
“Never this day, this leaf, forget.”
And lo! I had forgot it all.
Nor could I think with all my care
What it did ever mean, and so
I slowly let the summer air
Waft it away, and watched it go
What it did ever mean, and so
I slowly let the summer air
Waft it away, and watched it go
With dreaming gaze. And is it thus,
I mused, with this world's joy and grief?
“Never forget” it seems to us,
As I wrote on my little sheaf;
I mused, with this world's joy and grief?
“Never forget” it seems to us,
As I wrote on my little sheaf;
When, lo! without our knowledge, curled
Our scroll of earth; its story small
Comes not into that higher world;
Besides—we have forgot it all!
Our scroll of earth; its story small
Comes not into that higher world;
Besides—we have forgot it all!
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson | |