WHENCE came his feet into my field, and why? How is it that he sees it all so drear? How do I see his seeing, and how hear The name his bitter silence knows it by? This was the little fold of separate sky Whose pasturing clouds in the soul's atmosphere Drew living light from one continual year: How should he find it lifeless? He, or I? Lo? this new Self now wanders round my field, With plaints for every flower, and for each tree A moan, the sighing wind's auxiliary: And o'er sweet waters of my life, that yield Unto his lips no draught but tears unseal'd, Even in my place he weeps. Even I, not he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH: A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH TURTLE SOUP by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 20 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY by WALT WHITMAN TO A LADY TO ANSWER DIRECTLY WITH YEA OR NAY by THOMAS WYATT CARELESS LINES ON LABOUR by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A CHILD TO HIS SICK GRANDFATHER by JOANNA BAILLIE LINES TO MRS. KEMBLE, IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO by ROBERT BURNS |