WHEN all the sky is pure My soul takes flight, Serene and sure, Upward -- till at the height She weighs her wings, And sings. But when the heaven is black, And west-winds sigh, Beat back, beat back, She has no strength to try The drifting rain Again. So cheaply baffled! see! The field is bare -- Behold a tree -- Is't not enough? Sit there, Thou foolish thing, And sing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT AFTER THE PLAY by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG LATIMER AND RIDLEY, BURNED AT THE STAKE IN OXFORD, 1555 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY by BERNARD BARTON |