Century Magazine/Volume 48/Issue 1/Reminiscence

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For works with similar titles, see A 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 intermittent moan
Are mine by heritage, I must have known
 Life otherwhere 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!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.