Memory is a rue-y wine Crushed from out the shriveled grape Of a happier, sweeter time. Pass the days which numbly shape My warm lips to anguish mute. Hemlock would be not too drear Were we ne'er again to meet; Days, like yellow leaves and sere, With no spring again, to greet Heart-sap in the dormant root. I pick up the glass and sip. Push it back -- then taste again; Press it firmly to my lip; Touching every chord of pain As I strum heart's lonely lute. Pah! I'll cast aside my sorrow! Drink the goblet at a quaff, Pledging there @3shall@1 be tomorrow -- Teach again my lips to laugh. . . . Comes about, mutation rare! For instead of acrid rue, Memory is a fragrance sweet; Rosemary's so tender hue Promises that we shall meet. "Once again!" -- Both toast and prayer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR THEME IN YELLOW by CARL SANDBURG |