THE morning air plays on my face, And through the gray mist peering The soften'd sun I sweetly trace, Wood, muir, and mountain cheering. Larks aloft are singing, Hares from covert springing, And o'er the fen the wild-duck brood Their early way are winging. Bright every dewy hawthorn shines, Sweet every herb is growing, To him whose willing heart inclines The way that he is going. Clearly do I see now What will shortly be now; I'm patting at her door poor Tray, Who fawns and welcomes me now. How slowly moves the rising latch! How quick my heart is beating! That worldly dame is on the watch To frown upon our meeting. Fly! why should I mind her, See who stands behind her, Whose eye upon her traveller looks The sweeter and the kinder. Oh every bounding step I take, Each hour the clock is telling, Bears me o'er mountain, bourn, and brake Still nearer to her dwelling. Day is shining brighter, Limbs are moving lighter, While every thought to Nora's love, But binds my love the tighter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RESOLVE by MARY LEE CHUDLEIGH THE WIND IN A FROLIC by WILLIAM HOWITT A DIRGE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A TRIP TO PARIS AND BELGIUM: 16. ANTWERP TO GHENT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI GREEN CROSSES by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE DAY; NOVEMBER 11, 1918 by WITTER BYNNER THE WALTZ by GEORGE GORDON BYRON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 8. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE FOURTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |