This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered
with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone
like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran
along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the
park,
Two little boys, lying
flat on their faces,
Were carefully
gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard
box.
Some day there will be
no war,
Then I shall take out
this afternoon
And turn it in my
fingers,
And remark the sweet
taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp
variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only
gather it
And put it into my
lunch-box,
For I have time for
nothing
But the endeavour to
balance myself
Upon a broken world.
September, 1918 by the Modernist poet Amy Lowell is a very enlightening poem. It gives a sense of hope and imagination.
It was how the writer wanted to see the world in the year 1918, during the
World War I. Amy Lowell was painting a picture of how the world should have
been compared to the way it really was.
Here you can find a detailed analysis of this
poem.
For books are more than books, they
are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked
and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.
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