To me, the word remembrance is one of the most fascinating words in the English language. Remembrance is a theme peppered constantly throughout the poems of the classic era – remembrance of a lost love, remembrance of better days – and those select few poems that deal with the remembrance that suddenly strikes us in the night, perhaps when we're wandering alone beneath the stars and, all at once, the whole world seems to come to a point, as though a rush of timelessness sweeps over us, and we strangely feel connected to all of humankind that came before us – their struggles, their loves, their pain. I think of the simple quote of Walt Whitman:

“The powerful play goes on,

And you will contribute a verse.”

Another excerpt from John Greenleaf Whittier:

“For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’”

Many of us can identify with this feeling of remembrance mingled with a sense of timelessness. Some call it nostalgia, but I prefer remembrance. Most of us think little about such things in our average day to day. That's why we have poetry... to spring us back to that place of remembrance, connecting us again with those lofty thoughts and aspirations we had long since forgotten. I hope you enjoy them. The first is an excerpt from Walt Whitman's “A Song of Myself.”

“I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,

But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,

My left hand hooking you round the waist,

My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,

You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,

Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,

Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.”

Walt Whitman

The next excerpt is from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It's a poem called "My Lost Youth," and it's a powerful poem about him reminiscing about his life and the town where he grew up.

Often I think of the beautiful town

That is seated by the sea;

Often in thought go up and down

The pleasant streets of that dear old town,

And my youth comes back to me.

And a verse of a Lapland song

Is haunting my memory still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,

And catch, in sudden gleams,

The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,

And islands that were the Hesperides

Of all my boyish dreams.

And the burden of that old song,

It murmurs and whispers still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the slips,

And the sea-tides tossing free;

And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,

And the beauty and mystery of the ships,

And the magic of the sea.

And the voice of that wayward song

Is singing and saying still:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts..."

I remember the sea-fight far away,

How it thundered o'er the tide!

And the dead captains, as they lay

In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay,

Where they in battle died.

And the sound of that mournful song

Goes through me with a thrill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts..."

There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:

"A boy's will is the wind's will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Doing walkthroughs of poetry is one of my favorite pastimes. I've studied poetry for years and have found dozens of poems which stir the heart and soul.

Let's continue onward!

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Write, for example, ‘The night is starry

And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture

What does it matter that my love could not keep her

The night is starry and she is not with me

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me

The same night whitening the same trees

We, of that time, are no longer the same...

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

And these the last verses that I write for her.”

Pablo Neruda

If you've enjoyed these poems and thoughts on remembrance and want to read more, check out my blog:

Things I've Learned While Roaming the Earth