Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BITTER HERB by JEANNE ROBERT FOSTER

First Line: O BITTER HERB, FORGETFULNESS
Last Line: FAR AS THE VALES OF DEATH?
Subject(s): FORGETFULNESS;
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.

When I was young, this bitter herb
Grew wild on every hill;
I should have plucked a store of it,
And kept it by me still.

I hunt through all the meadows
Where once I wandered free,
But the rare herb, Forgetfulness,
It hides away from me.

O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
Where is your drowsy breath?
Oh, can it be your seed has blown
Far as the Vales of Death?






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