Move him into the sun -- Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of fields half-sown. Always it woke him, even in France, Until this morning and this snow. If anything might rouse him now The kind old sun will know. Think how it wakes the seeds -- Woke, once, the clays of a cold star. Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides, Full-nerved, still warm, too hard to stir? Was it for this the clay grew tall? -- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil To break earth's sleep at all? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHPEHERD'S HOUR by PAUL VERLAINE THE FIGHTING RACE [FEBRUARY 16, 1898] by JOSEPH IGNATIUS CONSTANTINE CLARKE THE DEPARTURE OF THE GOOD DAEMON by ROBERT HERRICK ROBIN REDBREAST by MOTHER GOOSE GATHERING SONG OF DONALD [OR, DONUI DHU] THE BLACK by WALTER SCOTT O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME by WALT WHITMAN TWELVE SONNETS: 12. AFTER BATTLE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |