Flame-Heart

So much have I forgotten in ten years,

So much in ten brief years!;† I have forgot

What time the purple apples come to juice,†

And what month brings the shy forget-me-not¹.;†

I have forgot Forgotten is† the special, startling season

Of the pimento's² some beloved tree's† flowering and fruiting;,†

What time of year the ground doves brown the fields

And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.:†

I have forgotten much, but still remember

The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

I still recall the honey-fever grass,

But cannot recollect the high days I cannot bring back to mind just† when

We rooted them out of the ping-wing³ path

To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.

I often try to think in what sweet month

The languid painted ladies used to dapple

The yellow by-road bye road† mazing⁴ from the main,⁵

Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.:†

I have forgotten—, †strange—, †but quite remember

The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

What weeks, what months, what time of o'† the mild year

We cheated school to have our fling at tops?

What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy

Feasting upon blackberries in the copse⁶?

Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,

Even the sacred moments ,† when we played,

All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,

At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.:†

We were so happy, happy, —† I remember,†

Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.