How can it be that I forget
The way he phrased my doom,
When I recall the arabesques
That carpeted the room?
How can it be that I forget
His look and mein that hour,
When I recall I wore a rose,
And still can smell the flower?
How can it be that I forget
Those words that were his last,
When I recall the tune a man
Was whistling as he passed?
These things are what we keep from life's
Supremest joy or pain;
For memory locks her chaff in bins
And throws away the grain.
Back to Anne Reeve Aldrich
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