Memory
My mind lets go a thousand things,
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour--
'Twas noon by yonder village tower,
And on the last blue noon in May--
The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.
Commentary
A nice little vignette - not by any means a ‘great’ poem, but nonetheless pleasant and evocative. The sense of vividness is sharp - blue skies, brisk winds, pine scents - as is the contrast between the ‘brisk’ and the ‘listless’ moments, and the whole has a nice pastoral, spring feeling that is particularly attractive this cold October morning :).
— Martin
Biography
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey
b. Nov. 11, 1836, Portsmouth, N.H., U.S.
d. March 19, 1907, Boston poet, short-story writer, and editor whose
use of the surprise ending influenced the development of the short
story. He drew upon his childhood experiences in New Hampshire in his
popular classic The Story of a Bad Boy (1870).
Aldrich left school at 13 to work as a merchant’s clerk in New York City and soon began to contribute to various newspapers and magazines. After publication of his first book of verse, The Bells (1855), he became junior literary critic on the New York Evening Mirror and later subeditor of the Home Journal. From 1881 to 1890 he was editor of The Atlantic Monthly.
His poems, which reflect the cultural atmosphere of New England and his frequent European tours, were published in such volumes as Cloth of Gold (1874), Flower and Thorn (1877), Mercedes and Later Lyrics (1884), and Windham Towers (1890).
His best known prose is Marjorie Daw and Other People (1873), a collection of short stories.
– EB
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
PGDIDI · 14 March 2002
I have a copy of “Memory” on letterhead stationary of the Editorial Office of The Atlantic Monthly, Boston, handwritten and signed by Thomas Bailey Aldrich. It came by way of a gift to a family friend and has since passed on to me. The first time I read it I was sure he had walked amongst the pines of my California coastal home. The clock tower in town could have tolled the noon hour as he walked along the brook that slips down to the bay. The pines and wild tea roses grew along the sheltered pathway of that brooks edge. The pines still do, the tea roses are no more. Thomas Aldrich will keep them there forever.