by Ben Belitt
Now let me bear in mind against a colder
Gesture of the grass, a scanter bough,
Some meadow starred with laurel, to the brow,
Some hillside wearing primrose on her shoulder.
Darkens, the brief heart, and the pulses smoulder;
Yet shall the mind burn clear, remembering how
Earth can break pungent underneath the plow,
And fields stretch fine and fair to the beholder.
Let me bear well in mind this trivial berry,
Even this swart stone, run to fragrant riot
With the thick woodbine, even this broken stile:
All that is fugitive and momentary,
Let me attend them well, perplexed, unquiet,
Who shall be quiet in a little while.
Last updated September 22, 2022