How very distant shrills the slaughter Of time when March hears falling water. Obsidian pools in purple walls -- On them the falling water falls; White sound struck out of a black drum: And there beside the hemlock hole A dryad dances with her soul And forest things grow frolicsome. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROMAN ROAD by THOMAS HARDY ARABELLA STUART by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE DORCHESTER GIANT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES PATROLING BARNEGAT by WALT WHITMAN CEDARS OF LEBANON AT WARWICK CASTLE by MATHILDE BLIND MATRIMONIAL MELODIES: 4. AMPLE by BERTON BRALEY PRAESTO by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN EPIGRAM ON MISS DAVIES; LINES WRITTEN ON A WINDOW AT MOFFAT INN by ROBERT BURNS |