SOFT languors on the bosom of the deep, A blissful swoon that takes the sense in thrall; My hopes are dead, my memory is asleep, I only lie and watch the waters fall And lift, and let my tired spirit steep In sun and sea, as happy as a hound That lazes on a plot of grassy ground; Until the dim night shadows come and creep Between the day and me, and end it all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEARS AT RASPBERRY TIME by HAYDEN CARRUTH AT THE TAVERN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY THE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS by CELIA THAXTER SONG FOR THE LONDON VOLUNTEERS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |