Very old are the woods; And the buds that break Out of the brier's boughs, When March winds wake, So old with their beauty are -- Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose. Very old are the brooks; And the rills that rise Where snow sleeps cold beneath The azure skies Sing such a history Of come and gone, Their every drop is as wise As Solomon. Very old are we men; Our dreams are tales Told in dim Eden By Eve's nightingales; We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD BRIDGE AT FLORENCE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE DEFENSE OF THE ALAMO [MARCH 6, 1835] by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER APOLOGIA PRO POEMATE MEO by WILFRED OWEN SESTINA: ALTAFORTE by EZRA POUND FOR AN ALLEGORICAL DANCE OF WOMEN (BY ANDREA MANTEGNA) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |