Memory and Narrative



My imagination goes some years backward, and I remember a beautiful young girl singing at the edge of the sea in Normandy words and music of her own composition.  She thought herself alone, stood barefooted between sea and sand; sang with lifted head of civilizations that there had come and gone, ending every verse with the cry: Oh Lord, let something remain.


W.B. Yeats


from, Memory and Narrative, James Olney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s