I can remember, in the long ago, How, when the evening shadows slowly grew, I nestled closely, as I loved to do, And begged a story in the twilight glow. But when those mother accents, sweet and low, Began some bed-time tale all strange and new, I cried—Not that one! Let me listen to The one you told last time—the one I know. Was I so different in the days of yore? I sit and dream anew the joys of old, Crying to Fate to send them back once more, Distrusting what the future may unfold. Tho' sweet the hope be of what lies before, Sweet is the mem'ry of the tale that's told! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANSWER TO PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER AND SO, I THINK DIOGENES by AMY LOWELL FLUTE-PRIEST SONG FOR RAIN; CEREMONIAL AT THE SUN SPRING by AMY LOWELL VICTORY IN DEFEAT by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: WIDOW FORTELKA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NORTH WIND TO DUTIFUL BEAST MIDWAY BETWEEN DIAL & FOOT OF GARDEN CLOCK by MARIANNE MOORE |