John McCullagh January 22, 2004

 I think the exiles among you will forgive me my self-indulgence just one more poem.

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day
But now, i often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, i remember
The roses, red and white The                                                                         
violets and the lily-cups
Those flowers made of light;
The lilacs where the robin built
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday –
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky!
It was a childhood ignorance
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

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