When near the end, she called us all around And gave to each some trinket she had found Among her little treasures -- gave to one A doily her failing hands had done, A book to me (the lines she most admired Her hands had marked before they grew too tired), To one her beads, to one her simple ring -- Some little treasures for "remembering." Remembrances -- as though we had the need! The book is here -- my eyes too full to read -- And so with all of us and everything -- The beads, the doily, the little ring. Yes, we remember her -- but not by these Remembrances she thought our hearts would please With solemn happiness when she had gone -- These little memories we gaze upon. She left us more -- a holy souvenir Of her sweet self -- she left a Presence here: She sits again at table; on the stair We pause a little -- she has lingered there; The garden path, the seat beneath the vine -- Around them now both rose and memory twine. Her little gifts are 'shrined upon the shelf -- For all around the house she left Herself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS VISION by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD'S BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH ECSTASY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 2. LOS CIGARILLOS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |