ALONG the pastoral ways I go, To get the healing of the trees, The ghostly news the hedges know; To hive me honey like the bees, Against the time of snow. The common hawthorn that I see, Beside the sunken wall astir, Or any other blossoming tree, Is each God's fair white gospeller, His book upon the knee. A gust-broken bough; a pilfered nest; Rumors of orchard or of bin; The thrifty things of east and west, -- The countryside becomes my Inn, And I its happy guest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DAISY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA (1) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET: ON A FAMILY PICTURE by THOMAS EDWARDS CHURCH MONUMENTS by GEORGE HERBERT AFTER MUSIC by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY THERE WAS A GARDEN by MARIE BARTON SONNET: 2 by GWENDOLYN B. BENNETT THE THREE SAD SHEPPARDESSES, GOE TO A LITTLE TABLE, WHERE THEY SINGE by ELIZABETH BRACKLEY |