Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn! Cold as the cold Decembers, Past as the days that set, While only one remembers And all the rest forget, -- But one remembers yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SISTER MARIA CELESTE, GALILEO'S DAUGHTER, WRITES TO FRIEND by MADELINE DEFREES THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER GETHSEMANE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |