WITH blind eyes meeting the mist and moon And yet with blossoming trees robed round, With gashes black, nay, one great wound, Amazing still it stands its ground; Sad soul, here stay you. It held, one time, such happy hours, Its tables shone with smiles and filled The hungry -- Home! 'twas theirs, is ours, We house it here and laugh unkilled. Hoarse gun, now, pray you -- It knew the hand and voice of Sleep, Sleep was its friend and nightly came, And still the bony laths would keep One friendship, but poor Sleep's gone lame. O poisoner, Mahu! A hermit might have built a cell Among those evergreens, beside That mellow wall: they serve as well For four lean guns. Soft, hermits, hide, Lest pride display you. It hived the bird's call, the bee's hum, The sunbeams crossing the garden's shade -- So fond of summer! still they come, But steel-born bees, birds, beams invade. -- Could summer betray you? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEONORA; A PANEGYRICAL POEM by JOHN DRYDEN POPPY: FANTASTIC EXTRAVAGANCE by FRANCIS THOMPSON TIPPERARY: 2. AS THE TRANSLATORS WOULD HAVE INTERLINED IT . . . by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A FRESHET by ANTIPHILUS OF BYZANTIUM ST. MARTIN'S WALL by ANTON ALEXANDER VON AUERSPERG O FOR A SOUL by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON THE TRUE MEANING OF THE SCRIPTURE TERMS 'LIFE AND DEATH,' by JOHN BYROM |