LOOK at the leaves I gather up in trembling, -- Little to see, and sere, and time-bewasted, But they are other than the tree can bear now, For they are mine! Deep as the tumult in an arched sea-cave, Out of the Past these antiquated voices Fall on my heart's ear; I must listen to them, For they are mine! Whose is this hand that wheresoe'er it wanders, Traces in light words thoughts that come as lightly? Who was the king of all this soul-dominion? I? Was it mine? With what a healthful appetite of spirit, Sits he at Life's inevitable banquet, Tasting delight in every thing before him! Could this be mine? See! how he twists his coronals of fancy, Out of all blossoms, knowing not the poison, -- How his young eye is meshed in the enchantment! And it was mine! What, is this I? -- this miserable complex, Losing and gaining, only knit together By the ever-bursting fibres of remembrance, -- What is this @3mine?@1 Surely we @3are@1 by feeling as by knowing, -- Changing our hearts our being changes with them; Take them away, -- these spectres of my boyhood, They are not mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MILITARY PROGRESS by MARIANNE MOORE JOHN MOULDY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE WHITE KNIGHT'S SONG by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON RED JACKET by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK THE REALM OF FANCY by JOHN KEATS IDYLLS OF THE KING: BALIN AND BALAN by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BOUNDARIES OF APPRECIATION by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |