Through the soft evening air enwinding all, Rocks, woods, fort, cannon, pacing sentries, endless wilds, In dulcet streams, in flutes' and cornets' notes, Electric, pensive, turbulent, artificial, (Yet strangely fitting even here, meanings unknown before, Subtler than ever, more harmony, as if born here, related here, Not to the city's fresco'd rooms, not to the audience of the opera house, Sounds, echoes, wandering strains, as really here at home, Sonnambula's innocent love, trios with Norma's anguish, And thy ecstatic chorus Poliuto;) Ray'd in the limpid yellow slanting sundown, Music, Italian music in Dakota. While Nature, sovereign of this gnarl'd realm, Lurking in hidden barbaric grim recesses, Acknowledging rapport however far remov'd, (As some old root or soil of earth its last-born flower or fruit,) Listens well pleas'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ARCHITECT AT THE EDGE OF THE SEA by KAREN SWENSON THE BARBER'S by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 1. AT TEA by THOMAS HARDY THE NILE by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT THE HARVEST MOON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW RORY O'MORE; OR, ALL FOR GOOD LUCK by SAMUEL LOVER THE GREAT SAINT BERNARD by SAMUEL ROGERS MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 12 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |