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...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR THE AWAKENING RIVER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NEBUCHADNEZZAR: OR EATING GRASS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |