Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn! Cold as the cold Decembers, Past as the days that set, While only one remembers And all the rest forget, -- But one remembers yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A THUNDER-STORM (2ND VERSION) by EMILY DICKINSON THE INDIAN EMPEROR: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN THE BELLS OF SAN BLAS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 38 by EDWARD TAYLOR OUR MASTER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE ART OF WRITING by PHILIP AYRES |