Classic Poem

The Memory

Down the little, crooked street that went to meet the sea
The torn nets were drying on the grass—
(She was mending at the old nets—she never looked at me—)
On a blue September morning with a West wind blowing free,
She never raised her head to watch me pass.
'Tis all I took away with me—a blue September morning,
The little street, the green grass and one girl's scorning.

I've forgot my Father's house—the house that saw me born—
Forgot my Mother's blessing at the last;
There's nothing but the old nets tangled-like and torn
And the head that bent above them, yellow-colored as the corn,
That never raised to watch me as I passed.
I wish I'd be forgetting it—a blue September morning,
The blowing grass, the torn nets—and one girl's scorning.English