I THINK OF PAST BEAUTY Pictures of the lovely scenes I’ve witnessed in my life Appear before my inner eye, Odd moments through the day: The view from a café in my home town; The moon, behind the tree outside My window in a rooming house; New snow on morning streets— Silent scenes, brought Back to life by what? Each picture is a refuge, A reservoir of peace Conjured against Some stress of present life. Yet, when I take the frame away And see each in the context Of the period surrounding it, I realize those weren't happy times But full of loneliness and dread. Each picture is a lie, and yet Its beauty somehow tells the truth.
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