O I would sing of love in every tone, The chant of trees, the murmur of a flower, The sigh of winds in some deserted bower Where solitude replaces rapture flown From summer midnights, the tempestuous groan Of torrents, or the song of the new hour, The monotone of a nocturnal shower Tell me of love in laughter, music, moan. I know not if we loved for joy or pain In pale old ages where the yellow flowers Flaunted in tardy sunshine, or the rain Flowing and pallid wept through purple hours. But O Beloved, how sad the springtime seems! Our souls have seen the passing of our dreams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COMFORT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING IN THIS DARK HOUSE by EDWARD DAVISON PRECIOUS WORDS by EMILY DICKINSON A LAST PRAYER by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 24 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE FEMALE GOD by ISAAC ROSENBERG |