Poems on the topic: memory

Poems on the topic “memory” on Poets.by.

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Henry David Thoreau

Within the Circuit of This Plodding Life

Within the circuit of this plodding life There enter moments of an azure hue, Untarnished fair as is the violet Or anemone, when the spring strews them By some meandering rivulet, which make The best philosophy untrue that aims But to console man for his grievances I have remembered when the winter came, High in my chamber in the frosty nights, When in the still light of the cheerful moon, On every twig and rail and jutting spout, The icy spears were adding to their length Against the arrows of the coming sun, How in the shimmering noon of summer past Some unrecorded beam slanted across The upland pastures where the Johnswort grew;

Emily Dickinson

Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,

Death leaves Us homesick, who behind, Except that it is gone Are ignorant of its Concern As if it were not born. Through all their former Places, we Like Individuals go Who something lost, the seeking for Is all that's left them, now --

Emily Dickinson

There is a pain -- so utter --

There is a pain -- so utter -- It swallows substance up -- Then covers the Abyss with Trance -- So Memory can step Around -- across -- upon it -- As one within a Swoon -- Goes safely -- where an open eye -- Would drop Him -- Bone by Bone.

Emily Dickinson

Like Some Old fashioned Miracle

Like Some Old fashioned Miracle When Summertime is done -- Seems Summer's Recollection And the Affairs of June As infinite Tradition As Cinderella's Bays -- Or Little John -- of Lincoln Green -- Or Blue Beard's Galleries -- Her Bees have a fictitious Hum -- Her Blossoms, like a Dream -- Elate us -- till we almost weep -- So plausible -- they seem -- Her Memories like Strains -- Review -- When Orchestra is dumb -- The Violin in Baize replaced -- And Ear -- and Heaven -- numb --

Emily Dickinson

A little Snow was here and there

A little Snow was here and there Disseminated in her Hair -- Since she and I had met and played Decade had gathered to Decade -- But Time had added not obtained Impregnable the Rose For summer too indelible Too obdurate for Snows --

Emily Dickinson

Water, is taught by thirst.

Water, is taught by thirst. Land -- by the Oceans passed. Transport -- by throe -- Peace -- by its battles told -- Love, by Memorial Mold -- Birds, by the Snow.

Emily Dickinson

I've known a Heaven, like a Tent

I've known a Heaven, like a Tent -- To wrap its shining Yards -- Pluck up its stakes, and disappear -- Without the sound of Boards Or Rip of Nail -- Or Carpenter -- But just the miles of Stare -- That signalize a Show's Retreat -- In North America -- No Trace -- no Figment of the Thing That dazzled, Yesterday, No Ring -- no Marvel -- Men, and Feats -- Dissolved as utterly -- As Bird's far Navigation Discloses just a Hue -- A plash of Oars, a Gaiety --

Emily Dickinson

The Snow that never drifts --

The Snow that never drifts -- The transient, fragrant snow That comes a single time a Year Is softly driving now -- So thorough in the Tree At night beneath the star That it was February's Foot Experience would swear -- Like Winter as a Face We stern and former knew Repaired of all but Loneliness By Nature's Alibit -- Were every storm so spice The Value could not be -- We buy with contrast -- Pang is good As near as memory --

Emily Dickinson

Those fair -- fictitious People

Those fair -- fictitious People -- The Women -- plucked away From our familiar Lifetime -- The Men of Ivory -- Those Boys and Girls, in Canvas -- Who stay upon the Wall In Everlasting Keepsake -- Can Anybody tell? We trust -- in places perfecter -- Inheriting Delight Beyond our faint Conjecture -- Our dizzy Estimate -- Remembering ourselves, we trust -- Yet Blesseder -- than We -- Through Knowing -- where We only hope -- Receiving -- where we -- pray --

Emily Dickinson

Through those old Grounds of memory,

Through those old Grounds of memory, The sauntering alone Is a divine intemperance A prudent man would shun. Of liquors that are vended 'Tis easy to beware But statutes do not meddle With the internal bar. Pernicious as the sunset Permitting to pursue But impotent to gather, The tranquil perfidy Alloys our firmer moments With that severest gold Convenient to the longing But otherwise withheld.

Emily Dickinson

To flee from memory

To flee from memory Had we the Wings Many would fly Inured to slower things Birds with surprise Would scan the cowering Van Of men escaping From the mind of man

Emily Dickinson

The first Day that I was a Life

The first Day that I was a Life I recollect it -- How still -- That last Day that I was a Life I recollect it -- as well -- 'Twas stiller -- though the first Was still -- "Twas empty -- but the first Was full -- This -- was my finallest Occasion -- But then My tenderer Experiment Toward Men -- "Which choose I"? That -- I cannot say -- "Which choose They"? Question Memory!

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