On the old, old bridge, with its crumbling stones All covered with lichens red and gray, Two lovers were talking in sweet low tones: And we were they! As he leaned to breathe in her willing ear The love that he vowed would never die, He called her his darling, his dove most dear: And he was I! She covered her face from the pale moonlight With her trembling hands, but her eyes looked through, And listened and listened with long delight: And she was you! On the old, old bridge, where the lichens rust, Two lovers are learning the same old lore; He tells his love, and she looks her trust: But we, -- no more! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: EARLY SPRING by EDITH SITWELL AFTER DIVORCE; FOR NAHID SARMAD by KAREN SWENSON THE RAT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES FREEDOM by RALPH WALDO EMERSON I SHALL NOT CARE by SARA TEASDALE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 3. TO A FRIEND UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE by MARK AKENSIDE |