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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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.
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.