The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing through the room, Makes the candles quiver. My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter, And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots Outside, in the night. Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGIAC SONNET: 4. TO THE MOON by CHARLOTTE SMITH TO THE QUEEN by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LEPER (2) by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS EPITAPH by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU WINE AND CITRON by ABU ABD ALLAH MONODY ON THE ASTOR HOUSE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |