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This is a love poem, apparently written from the heart - but not for Alfred's wife, Mary. It was written in 1917 for Ida Levinge, a nurse who befriended Alfred during his convalescence in Ireland in 1917.
The cloud remembers the hill,
The moon remembers the sea,
The dew forgets not the flowers,
And I will remember thee.
The blue tide foams on the short
With its passionate kisses wet,
The winds know their trysting-place;
Then how could my soul forget?
Soft as the rose-leaf falls,
By spirit-fingers prest,
So sweet thy memory lies
Full-perfumed in my breast.
Poems index
Alphabetical list of poems online
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