"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."
Memory, by Thomas Bailey Aldrich