All last night I had quiet In a fragrant dream and warm: She became my Sabbath, And round my neck, her arm. I knew the warmth in my dreaming; The fragrance, I suppose, Was her hair about me, Or else she wore a rose. Her hair I think; for likest Woodruffe 'twas, when Spring Loitering down the wet woodways Treads it sauntering. No light, nor any speaking; Fragrant only and warm. Enough to know my lodging, The white Sabbath of her arm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY HONOURED FRIEND DR. CHARLETON by JOHN DRYDEN THE DARKLING THRUSH by THOMAS HARDY THE NATIVE LAND by FRANCISCO DE ALDANA A COMPARISON OF THE LIFE OF MAN by RICHARD BARNFIELD IT IS FINISHED by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE SECOND SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |