OH, sweet content, that turns the labourer's sweat To tears of joy, and shines the roughest face; How often have I sought you high and low, And found you still in some lone quiet place. Here, in my room, when full of happy dreams, With no life heard beyond that merry sound Of moths that on my lighted ceiling kiss Their shadows as they dance and dance around. Or in a garden, on a summer's night, When I have seen the dark and solemn air Blink with the blind bat's wings, and heaven's bright face Twitch with the stars that shine in thousands there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE PEACOCK OF FRANCE by MARIANNE MOORE THE POET AND HIS SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS by ISAAC ROSENBERG A SPIRITUAL AND WELL-ORDERED MIND by HENRY ALFORD SPANISH WINGS: SENORITA by H. BABCOCK A DIALOGUE (FOR A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT ASPIRATIONS: 11 by MATHILDE BLIND |