The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
A MemoryFrancis Joseph Sherman (18711926)
Y
And yet it seemed to me to-day as if the Spring
Were the same one that in an ancient year
Came suddenly upon our wandering.
Can you forget the shy awaking call
Of the first robin?—And the foolish way
The squirrel ran along the low stone wall?
Hushing, falling; while the pine-laden breeze
Told us the tumult many crows were making
Amid innumerable distant trees;
Around, above, beneath us,—everywhere;
The soft return of immemorial Springs
Thrilling with life the fragrant forest air;
Or must you—even as I—remember well?
To-day, all these were with me, there,—and yet
They seemed to have some bitter thing to tell;
One’s doubtful coming whom of old they knew;
Till, seeing me alone and desolate,
They learned how vain was strong desire of you.