Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THREE SONGS: 2 by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON

First Line: THE FLOCKS THAT BRUISE THE MOUNTAIN GRASS
Last Line: A LONG-REMEMBERED WOE.
The flocks that bruise the mountain grass
Send out beneath their feet
Such thymy fragrance as they pass,
That all the fell is sweet.

Sometimes a stranger breathes thy name,
O Love of long ago!
And in my heart there leaps to flame
A long-remembered woe.



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