Today my little girl, behind a door, Pulled out a sack which held old cloth and rags -- That dreams and memories may be found in bags, When lost awhile, I never knew before. A heap of scraps (silk, gingham, muslin, wool) To me became the pages of a book That told a story. -- Then just one she took And said: "O father, see how beautiful!" A bit of mull! . . . (We sat beside a lake, In April time, my love and I. The trees Bent low and turned the shaded blue to gray. We watched the sun and sky and waters make The afterglow there weave a living frieze) . . . "That mull? Your mother wore it yesterday!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHAPE OF THE CORONER by WALLACE STEVENS PROMETHEUS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SONG OF THE RABBITS OUTSIDE THE TAVERN by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH THE VILLAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ON PLAYWRIGHT (1) by BEN JONSON THE SUPPLIANTS: PRAYER FOR DELIVERANCE. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS |