YOUR bow swept over a string, and a long low note quivered to the air. (A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect learning to suck milk.) Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering and wild. (All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon in the hills with their lovers.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HERETIC: 1. BLASPHEMY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE ANGEL, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE HURRAHING IN HARVEST by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 4. REVEILLE by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE by AMELIA OPIE THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 101. THE ONE HOPE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |