My Mind Lets Go A Thousand Things, Like Dates Of Wars And Deaths Of Kings, And Yet Recalls The Very Hour-- 'Twas Noon By Yonder Village Tower, And On The Last Blue Noon In May-- The Wind Came Briskly Up This Way, Crisping The Brook Beside The Road; Then, Pausing Here, Set Down Its Load Of Pine-Scents, And Shook Listlessly Two Petals From That Wild-Rose Tree.