Tuesday, April 6, 2010

My Playmate Comments

Rating: 2.9

The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
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John Greenleaf Whittier
COMMENTS
Paul Elliott 04 March 2019

This has been one of my favourare poems for nearly 70 years. It speaks of the social devide as well as the seasons marking the passage of time. And the haunting recolection of lost love and childhood.

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Jim Dahl 19 February 2014

I suppose that we all have felt the pain of not knowing if our young love has ever given us a second thought though years, yea decades, have passed. Compare this poem to Maud Muller.

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John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier

Haverhill, Massachusetts
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