One Sad, One Happy

I came across this poem by Walter de la Mare the other day, and it struck me as just about the saddest autumn poem I have read...There is a wind where the rose was;Cold rain where sweet grass was;And clouds like sheepStream o'er the steepGrey skies where the lark was.Nought gold where your hair was;Nought warm where your hand was;But phantom, forlorn,Beneath the thorn,Your ghost where your face was.Sad winds where your voice was;Tears, tears where my heart was;And ever with me,Child, ever with me,Silence where hope was. Surely, I thought, this is a poem of grief for a lost child – but no, it seems not: all four of the Da la Mares' children lived into adulthood. I was relieved to learn this, but wonder what can have inspired such a grief-stricken poem? Anyway, for something happier, here is Auden's 'A Mosaic for Marianne Moore', written on the occasion of her eightieth birthday, in 1967 (she was born on this day in 1887)... The concluded gardens of personal likingAre enchanted…

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