Poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Reminiscence

THOUGH I am native to this frozen zone
That half the twelvemonth torpid lies, or dead;
Though the cold azure arching overhead
And the Atlantic's never-ending moan
Are mine by heritage, I must have known
Life otherwise in epochs long since fled;
For in my veins some Orient blood is red,
And through my thought are lotus blossoms blown,
I do remember . . . it was just at dusk,
Near a walled garden at the river's turn
(A thousand summers seem but yesterday!),
A Nubian girl, more sweet than Khoorja musk,
Came to the water-tank to fill her urn,
And, with the urn, she bore my heart away! 

1. A Petition
2. At the Funeral of a Minor Poet
3. Latakia
4. Song from the Persian
5. At a Reading

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