Now, Like the pines intoning Though some solitary gloom, My errant thoughts go pattering About love's ancient tomb, And though no breath of incense rare Lies round the shattered cup, A banquet weird, the fragments Where the ghost of love May sup. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE CHURCH DOOR by GEORGE SANTAYANA VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 10. STRESA by SARA TEASDALE REVELATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN by ROBERT BROWNING A TOWN WINDOW by JOHN DRINKWATER HYMN TO THE NIGHT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |