Topic: Memory

I Am

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed Into the nothingness of scorn...

By John Clare
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31 December

In Flanders Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now...

By John McCrae
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18 December


A blue-black Nubian plucking oranges At Jaffa by a sea of malachite, In red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing white Burnous—among the shadowy memories That haunt me yet by these bleak northern seas He lives for ever in my eyes’ delight, Bizarre, superb in young immortal might— A god of old barbaric...

By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
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19 November

The Rose-Bush

A child sleeps under a rose-bush fair, The buds swell out in the soft May air; Sweetly it rests, and on dream-wings flies To play with the angels in Paradise. And the years glide by. A Maiden stands by the rose-bush fair, The dewy blossoms perfume the air; She presses her hand...

By Johann Ludwig Uhland
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24 August

“There is such power even in smallest things”

There is such power even in smallest things To bring the dear past back; a flower’s tint, A snatch of some old song, the fleeting glint Of sunbeams on the wave—each vivid brings The lost days up, as from the idle strings Of wind-harp sad a breeze evokes the hint Of...

By Arlo Bates
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14 August