How like her! But 'tis she herself, Comes up the crowded street, How little did I think, the morn, My only love to meet! Who else that motion and that mien? Whose else that airy tread? For one strange moment I forgot My only love was dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE THE FLOWERS OF FRIENDSHIP FADED FADED: 21 by GERTRUDE STEIN THE MAN IN THE MOON by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY CALIBAN [ON THE ISLAND], FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE KITTY NEIL by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED by WALT WHITMAN THE FLAT-HUNTER'S WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |