I shall go down from the stark, gray-stone towers, Out from this town -- the dogs howl at its gates -- The sad clocks strike the eternal hours And my refuge waits. I shall go forth with sandals and a crust, Before the evil, stupid, friendly feet Have stopped my singing mouth with choking dust, Stamped from the common street. For hope has planted vineyards in a place Of valleys where a heart may lie at ease, And dreams can dally with a shy, young thought, Naked among the silver birchen trees. There Aeolus will play a willow harp, Soft as the autumn light upon a hill, And dipping swallows leave tight water rings Which widen with a motion that is still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WAR IS KIND: 12 by STEPHEN CRANE THE VOLUNTEER by ELBRIDGE JEFFERSON CUTLER THRENODY by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE RUSH OF THE OREGON by ARTHUR GUITERMAN BROWNING AT ASOLO by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON POETASTER: SONG (4) by BEN JONSON WAITING FOR THE GRAPES by WILLIAM MAGINN |