DOWN the little, crooked street that went to meet the sea The torn nets were drying on the grass -- (She was mending at the old nets -- she never looked at me --) On a blue September morning with a West wind blowing free, She never raised her head to watch me pass. 'Tis all I took away with me -- a blue September morning, The little street, the green grass and one girl's scorning. I've forgot my Father's house -- the house that saw me born -- Forgot my Mother's blessing at the last; There's nothing but the old nets tangled-like and torn And the head that bent above them, yellow-colored as the corn, That never raised to watch me as I passed. I wish I'd be forgetting it -- a blue September morning, The blowing grass, the torn nets -- and one girl's scorning. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 92 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A CHARACTER OF SARAH HALLOWELL VAUGHAN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ETHELWALD, FR. METRICAL HISTORY OF ST. CUTHBERT by BEDE SAME COTTAGE - BUT ANOTHER SONG, OF ANOTHER SEASON by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM THE WINDS by SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES VERSES ON DANGER OF ATTACHING WRONG IDEAS TO WORDS OR EPITHETS by JOHN BYROM |