But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.
Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;
Here might I hope to find you day or night,
And here I come to look for you, my love,
Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.
Ah, I could lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me
... but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight
A wind with a wolf's head
Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat upon the floor.
I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went.
Mots clés poetry time growth maturity finding-yourself
How first you knew me in a book I wrote,
How first you loved me for a written line
Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.
Edna St. Vincent MillayMots clés loss-of-innocence
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