Now one and all, you roses, Wake up, you lie too long! This very morning closes The Nightingale his song; Each from its olive chamber His babies every one This very morning clamber Into the shining sun. You Slug-a-beds and Simples, Why will you so delay! Dears, doff your olive wimples, And listen while you may. Reason has moons, but moons not hers, Lie mirro'r on her sea, Confounding her astronomers, But, O! delighting me. Babylon -- where I go dreaming When I weary of to-day, Weary of a world grown gray. God loves an idle rainbow, No less than labouring seas. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOY OF THE MORNING by EDWIN MARKHAM GOOD FRIDAY (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MONODY ON THE ASTOR HOUSE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS AUTUMN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 12. VENUS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE GIANTESS by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE IMPROVISATORE: RODOLPH THE WILD by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |