When midst the summer-roses the warm bees Are swarming in the sun, and thou -- so full Of innocent glee -- dost with thy white hands pull Pink scented apples from the garden trees To fling at me, I catch them, on my knees, Like those who gathered manna; and I cull Some hasty buds to pelt thee -- white as wool Lilies, or yellow jonquils, or heartsease; -- Then I can speak my love, even though thy smiles Gush out among thy blushes, like a flock Of bright birds from rose-bowers; but when thou'rt gone I have no speech, -- no magic that beguiles, The stream of utterance from the hardened rock: -- The dial cannot speak without the sun! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG, FR. ERNEST MALTRAVERS by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON THE SCHOOL GIRL by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE OLD WAR-DREAMS by WALT WHITMAN I HAVE SEEN by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS MYSELF by HARRIET ELLEN (GRANNIS) AREY PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 25. AL-MUHIZZ by EDWIN ARNOLD TO MISS KINDER, ON RECEIVING A NOTE DATED FEBRUARY 30TH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |