[236] Memory

My mind lets go a thousand things,
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour--
'Twas noon by yonder village tower,
And on the last blue noon in May--
The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.

      -- Thomas Bailey Aldrich

A nice little vignette - not by any means a 'great' poem, but nonetheless
pleasant and evocative. The sense of vividness is sharp - blue skies, brisk
winds, pine scents - as is the contrast between the 'brisk' and the
'listless' moments, and the whole has a nice pastoral, spring feeling that
is particularly attractive this cold October morning :).

m.

Biography:

  Aldrich, Thomas Bailey

   b. Nov. 11, 1836, Portsmouth, N.H., U.S.
   d. March 19, 1907, Boston poet, short-story writer, and editor whose
   use of the surprise ending influenced the development of the short
   story. He drew upon his childhood experiences in New Hampshire in his
   popular classic The Story of a Bad Boy (1870).

   Aldrich left school at 13 to work as a merchant's clerk in New York
   City and soon began to contribute to various newspapers and magazines.
   After publication of his first book of verse, The Bells (1855), he
   became junior literary critic on the New York Evening Mirror and later
   subeditor of the Home Journal. From 1881 to 1890 he was editor of The
   Atlantic Monthly.

   His poems, which reflect the cultural atmosphere of New England and
   his frequent European tours, were published in such volumes as Cloth
   of Gold (1874), Flower and Thorn (1877), Mercedes and Later Lyrics
   (1884), and Windham Towers (1890).

   His best known prose is Marjorie Daw and Other People (1873), a
   collection of short stories.

   		-- EB

From: PGDIDI@

I have a copy of "Memory" on letterhead stationary of the Editorial Office of 
The Atlantic Monthly, Boston, handwritten and signed by Thomas Bailey 
Aldrich.  It came by way of a gift to a family friend and has since passed on 
to me.  The first time I read it I was sure he had walked amongst the pines 
of my California coastal home. The clock tower in town could have tolled the 
noon hour as he walked along the brook that slips down to the bay. The pines 
and wild tea roses grew along the sheltered pathway of that brooks edge.  The 
pines still do, the tea roses are no more.  Thomas Aldrich will keep them 
there forever.