Temps Perdu Analysis

Death and Taxes1931I never may turn the loop of a roadWhere sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying,

But my heart drags down with an ancient load-My heart, that a second before was flying.I never behold the quivering rain-And sweeter the rain than a lover to me-

But my heart is wild in my breast with pain;My heart, that was tapping contentedly.There's never a rose spreads new at my doorNor a strange bird crosses the moon at night

But I know I have known its beauty before,And a terrible sorrow along with the sight.The look of a laurel tree birthed for MayOr a sycamore bared for a new November

Is as old and as sad as my furtherest day-What is it, what is it, I almost remember?

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