The Bitter Herb

Jeanne Robert Foster 1879 (Johnsburg) – 1970



O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.

When I was young, this bitter herb
Grew wild on every hill;
I should have plucked a store of it,
And kept it by me still.

I hunt through all the meadows
Where once I wandered free,
But the rare herb, Forgetfulness,
It hides away from me.

O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
Where is your drowsy breath?
Oh, can it be your seed has blown
Far as the Vales of Death?

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

27 sec read
395

Quick analysis:

Scheme Abxb xcxc adad Aexe
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 475
Words 93
Stanzas 4
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 4, 4

Jeanne Robert Foster

Jeanne Robert Foster was an American poet from the Adirondack Mountains. more…

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