I may have forgot the calculus lessons from my maths classes, but what I term as profound memories of my school days are the poetry classes in my high school. Robert frost, Kipling, Wordsworth and Shelley – seem to have traveled with me all through the years and I was unnoticed till I stumbled upon my favorite lines by Wordsworth:
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy* ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
Feels like a lost world found back!
* The Lucy who is the subject of a small group of poems, most of them written in the winter of 1798-99, has never been identified, if she ever existed except as a creation of the poet's imagination.
