LOVE, thou art not alone for gentle dells, Where summer breezes, sweetly perfumed, breathe Through heavy branches. Thy place is also where the winter wind Roars down the long, bleak hill; The flying snow Doth blind the traveller as he strives to gain The little cottage under the sheltering pines, Where thou art waiting, Love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR DECORATION DAY: 1898-1899 by RUPERT HUGHES VAQUERO by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER TO MY CHILDREN: 3 by DOLLIE CAROLINE MAITLAND RADFORD PREFATORY POEM TO MY BROTHER'S SONNETS by ALFRED TENNYSON A CHILD'S GRAVE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE JACKET OF GREY by CAROLINE AUGUSTA BALL MY MOTHER by GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE A MORNING PIECE; WRITTEN IN ABSENCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |