THE trees flit by, the hasty bank, June-decked with verdure sweet and rank, Like greenest water seems to flow Far from me as I go. The little houses, sleepy-eyed, Drift past in meadows soft and wide; The distant sluggish woods creep on In races never won: I see all this; I hear the song Of the merry wheels as I whirl along; And yet my very watchings seem A something in a dream... For none of me has come away From the deep white peace of yesterday; You hold me close, your hands are there, Your kisses in my hair... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR by BEN JONSON SONNET: 9 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL WORDLY WISE (5) by MOTHER GOOSE SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 109 by PETRARCH TO WORDSWORTH by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 23 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |