Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SONNETS OF A REMEMBERED SUMMER, by MERRILL MOORE First Line: You are mistaken in your naive guessing Last Line: Is all this knowledge and all this loneliness. Subject(s): Memory; Summer | ||||||||
I You are mistaken in your naive guessing That novelty is now my chief desire. You fail to see the thing that I am stressing Is not these ashes but the former fire. Some men, you say, have simpler ways for knowing Than one who would wander in a backward path Like undecided winds about their blowing In spite of storms and winter's gusty wrath? That may be, I am not one for denying The things that were for those that cannot be, And I regret that there is any sighing Instead of wanton laughter over me, So I say humbly of a race of men, No, nothing new, only the old again. II You have a new voice from that other one, The one I knew last summer and recognized The moment I picked up the telephone, The one that changed then, leaving me surprised, The old voice of beaches and grey sands And white sails in the distance growing dimmer, Of stout sea-grass and sturdy sea-washed lands, Of ocean, and a certain silent summer. The new voice has an unsure note for me, A note of the dawn-call of the golden plover, A welling note of constant inconstancy Like that of a frightened sea-gull winging over, Or like a remembered song I might have heard Meshed in the night cry of a hidden bird. III If you would ask me, then I might see reason For answering lightly in another mood That I'd seen twilights of another season That moved less hurriedly my sordid blood, That evening came down softly for me once From silent heavens, before unheeding eyes, Shouting no story with its bold magnificence, Claiming no share of the sunset's glorious dyes. But I would lie -- there could have been no silence Nor is there now, for all the new-lit heaven And all the late-lit earth make one far flame That outbreasts time and overtowers distance. Burning one face there, and the twilight even, Even the diffident twilight sings one name! IV You are away . . . tomorrow you shall return Then it will seem right that it be Spring again, Spring may with justice bring her silver rain To cool the sky, her golden sun to burn The earth to bloom, and I will not complain Whatever lovely way her feet may turn, I see stout reasons that I can maintain When you are here . . . tomorrow you return . . . You have not come. Tomorrow's bread is bitterness. Tomorrow's April air is sour wine, Today . . . I dare not look upon today, Remembering that the pillars of yesterday Crumbled because you did not touch them . . . mine Is all this knowledge and all this loneliness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ADVANCE OF SUMMER by MARY KINZIE THE SUMMER IMAGE by LEONIE ADAMS CANOEBIAL BLISS by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE END OF SUMMER by HENRY MEADE BLAND THE FARMER'S BOY: SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD SONNET: 14. APPROACH OF SUMMER by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES JULY IN WASHINGTON by ROBERT LOWELL ODE TO THE END OF SUMMER by PHYLLIS MCGINLEY |
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