THIS is a spray the Bird clung to, Making it blossom with pleasure, Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. Oh, what a hope beyond measure Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to, -- So to be singled out, built in, and sung to! This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic. Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on-- Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RUPERT BROOKE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 2 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN PROSOPOPOIA, OR MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE by EDMUND SPENSER TRAVEL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON FORMALITY AND THE SOUL: 1. JOHN SINGER SARGENT by KARL W. BIGELOW OCTOER WOODS by EMMA INGOLD BOST SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 1. HER CLOTHES by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |