BARE, low, tawny hills With bluer heights beyond, And the air is sweet with spring, But when will the earth respond? Prairie that rolls for leagues, Dusky and golden-pale, Like a stirless sea of waves, Unbroken by ship or sail. The hollows are dark with brush, And black with the wash of showers, And ragged with bleaching wreck Of the ranks of the tall sunflowers. No cloud in the blue, no stir Save the shrill of the wind in the grass, And the meadow-lark's note, and the call Of the wind-borne crows that pass. Bare, low, tawny hills, With bluer heights beyond, And the air is sweet with spring, But when will the earth respond? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGES: 4 by RICHARD ALDINGTON THE YOUNG THAT DIED IN BEAUTY by WILLIAM BARNES THE MISTLETOE BOUGH by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY ON SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS by WILLIAM BLAKE PARADOX by MAGDELEN EDEN BOYLE HILLS OF HOME by WITTER BYNNER |