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...SONG OF KAREN, THE DANCING CHILD by KATHERINE MANSFIELD CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH ROMANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: GOTTLIEB GERALD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |