STILL glides the stream, slow drops the boat Under the rustling poplars' shade; Silent the swans beside us float: None speaks, none heeds--ah, turn thy head. Let those arch eyes now softly shine, That mocking mouth grow sweetly bland: Ah, let them rest, those eyes, on mine; On mine let rest that lovely hand. My pent-up tears oppress my brain, My heart is swoln with love unsaid: Ah, let me weep, and tell my pain, And on thy shoulder rest my head. Before I die, before the soul, Which now is mine, must re-attain Immunity from my control, And wander round the world again: Before this teas'd o'erlabour'd heart For ever leaves its vain employ, Dead to its deep habitual smart, And dead to hopes of future joy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA AT CASTLE BOTEREL by THOMAS HARDY THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE LOVE IS STRONG by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SONG (6) by ANNE BATTEN CRISTALL |