VAIN is the effort to forget. Some day I shall be cold, I know, As is the eternal moon-lit snow Of the high Alps, to which I go: But ah, not yet! not yet! Vain is the agony of grief. 'Tis true, indeed, an iron knot Ties straitly up from mine thy lot, And were it snapt--thou lov'st me not! But is despair relief? Awhile let me with thought have done; And as this brimm'd unwrinkled Rhine And that far purple muntain line Lie sweetly in the look divine Of the slow-sinking sun; So let me lie, and calm as they Let beam upon my inward view Those eyes of deep, soft, lucent hue-- Eyes too expressive to be blue, Too lovely to be grey. Ah Quiet, all things feel thy balm! Those blue hills too, this river's flow, Were restless once, but long ago. Tam'd is their turbulent youthful glow: Their joy is in their calm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BELL by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 15 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN PSALM 35. JUDICA DOMINE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE EMBROIDERESS AT MIDNIGHT by MARY ANN BROWNE ASOLANDO: ARCADES AMBO by ROBERT BROWNING A LANCASHIRE DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY A PREACHER WITHOUT NOTES by JOHN BYROM LINES FROM A NOTEBOOK - MAY/JUNE 1811 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |