A GRASSY field, the lambs, the nibbling sheep, A blackbird and a thorn, the April smile Of brooding peace, the gentle airs that wile The Channel of its moodiness, a steep That brinks the flood, a little gate to keep The sacred ground -- and then that old gray pile, A simple church wherein there is no guile Of ornament; and here the Hallams sleep. Blest mourner, in whose soul the grief grew song, Not now, methinks, awakes the slumbering pain, While Joy, with busy fingers, weaves the woof Of Spring. But when the Winter nights are long, Thy spirit comes with sobbing of the rain, And spreads itself, and moans upon the roof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROMAN ROAD by THOMAS HARDY THE GOOD SHEPHERD by FELIX LOPE DE VEGA CARPIO ASSAULT by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER BETWEEN WAND AND WELT by MARGARET AHO |