Thursday, September 15, 2022

Farewell, my friend (by moonlight all is simple)

 

 

The other day I rowed in my boat

 a free even lovely young lady

and as I plied the oars

 she sat in the stern

 and there was

nothing but she

 between me

and the sky.


Along the river

the memory of roses --

late rose now in prime.

Thoughts of autumn and

the memory of past years

occupy my mind.


What you can recall of a walk

on the second day will differ from

what you remember on the first day --

as to one who is

journeying amid mountains

any view changes.


Farewell, my friend

my path inclines

 to this side the mountain,

yours to that --

for a long time you have appeared

further and further off to me --

I see that you will at length

 disappear altogether--


 for a season my path

seemed lonely without you --

the memory of me is steadily

passing away from you --

 my path grows narrower and steeper

and the night is approaching.


 I am struck by this sudden solitude

and remoteness that these places have acquired.

This evening for the first time the new moon

is reflected from the frozen snow-crust.


She who was as the morning light to me
is now neither the morning star
nor the evening star
.



This moment in memory
half the leaves of our love
are still on the tree
and half have fallen
like a reflection.
October 16



See also:
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau, Reminiscence and Prompting

A Book of the Seasons,  by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2022

tinyurl.com/HDTfarewellmyfriend

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