Our love that was a rushing flood Where noble rivers met, Now trickles meanly through the days, A meager rivulet. What flowed from high lands of the soul Down to this lonely spot, Now scarcely serves to keep alive One frail forget-me-not. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: J. MILTON MILES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CONRAD AT TWILIGHT by JOHN CROWE RANSOM |