Month after month, year after year, My harp has poured a dreary strain; At length a livelier note shall cheer, And pleasure tune its chords again. What though the stars and fair moonlight Are quenched in morning dull and grey? They are but tokens of the night, And this , my soul, is day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A LECTURE-ROOM by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH BOSTON COMMON: 1630 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE FALL OF JERUSALEM by ALFRED TENNYSON INDEPENDENCE by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE LAMENT OF THE FLOWERS by JONES VERY |