Memory

My mind lets go a thousand things,

Like dates of wars and death of kings,

And yet recalls the very hour-

‘Twas noon by yonder village tower,

And on the last blue moon 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

-Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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