TOO soothe and mild your lowland airs For one whose hope is gone: I'm thinking of a little tarn, Brown, very lone. Would now the tall swift mists could lay Their wet grasp on my hair, And the great natures of the hills Round me friendly were. In vain! -- For taking hills your plains Have spoilt my soul, I think, But would my feet were going down Towards the brown tarn's brink. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVENING (1) by EMILY DICKINSON HIS PRAYER FOR ABSOLUTION by ROBERT HERRICK THE SISTERS by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE by JOHANNES ROBERT BECHER UMBRAE PUELLULARUM by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: SINCE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE STREET OF THE MANY LITTLE LOVERS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT |