A SATURATED meadow, Sun-shaped and jewel-small, A circle scarcely wider Than the trees around were tall; Where winds were quite excluded, And the air was stifling sweet With the breath of many flowers,-- A temple of the heat. There we bowed us in the burning, As the sun's right worship is, To pick where none could miss them A thousand orchises; For though the grass was scattered, Yet every second spear Seemed tipped with wings of color, That tinged the atmosphere. We raised a simple prayer Before we left the spot, That in the general mowing That place might be forgot; Or if not all so favoured, Obtain such grace of hours, That none should mow the grass there While so confused with flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LENNIE SWENSON by KAREN SWENSON THE FAERY FOREST by SARA TEASDALE THE MODERN MAJOR-GENERAL, FR. THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715 by ALEXANDER POPE TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE MESSAGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN AWAKENING by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |