"How sweet the silent backward tracings"
di Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

How sweet the silent backward tracings!
The wanderings as in dreams - the meditation of old
times resumed their loves, joys, persons, voyages.
Apple orchards, the trees all cover'd with blossoms;
Wheat fields carpeted far and near in vital emerald green;
The eternal, exhaustless freshness of each early morning;
The yellow, golden, transparent haze of the warm afternoon sun;
The aspiring lilac bushes with profuse purple or white flowers.