A LOG-HUT in the solitude, A clapboard roof to rest beneath! This side, the shadow-haunted wood; That side, the sunlight-haunted heath. At daybreak Morn shall come to me In raiment of the white winds spun; Slim in her rosy hand the key That opes the gateway of the sun. Her smile shall help my heart enough With love to labour all the day, And cheer the road, whose rocks are rough, With her smooth footprints, each a ray. At dusk a voice shall call afar, A lone voice like the whippoorwill's; And, on her shimmering brow one star, Night shall descend the western hills. She at my door till dawn shall stand, With gothic eyes, that, dark and deep, Are mirrors of a mystic land, Fantastic with the towns of sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 3. BY HER AUNT'S GRAVE by THOMAS HARDY THE NO-LONGER-MERRY ANCIENT MONARCH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS BOAR'S HILL; OCTOBER, 1919 by VERA MARY BRITTAIN HYMN OF THE WALDENSES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TO MISS JESSY LEWARS by ROBERT BURNS AN IDLE SONG by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR WAR NOTES: 4. DECORATION DAY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT THE CALEDONIA MEETING by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |