The change

Once I forgot all, everything,

In any day of fall or spring;

And even when I went to bed,

The little prayer I should have said.

I cannot now forget at all

Anything of spring or fall; —

The splutter of wind within a hedge;

Or smell of hyssop from the edge

Of a hot field; the field itself

Dry as a bone upon a shelf;

Or deer that fleet across a wood;

Or an old woman in a hood.

My prayers rise up, each like a spear,

So sharp that God cannot but hear.