The branches interlacing down the street Are glistening like the tips of angels' wings In long array. The subtle silver clings Upon them all. Not even the vibrant beat, At noonday, of the sunlight's gold shod feet, Has racked apart this airy ice that rings The outswept boughs with these enamellings, That gleam like drawn wires spinning through white heat. A vortex filled with whirling stars might fling Upon its margins some such dazzling spray As fell upon these trees and twigs to-day; Enough to turn a man from wandering And burden him with beauty that will weigh Heavily as the heaviest gold of spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEED OF BEING VERSED IN COUNTRY THINGS by ROBERT FROST THE HOMECOMING by THOMAS HARDY THE TWINS by HENRY SAMBROOKE LEIGH SIBERIA by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST by ALISON RUTHERFORD ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 10. TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ON ... POPE'S WORKS by MARK AKENSIDE |