WHEN the clouds come deep against the sky I sit alone in my room to think, To remember the fairy dreams I made, Listening to the rustling out of the trees. The stories in my fairy-tale book Come new to me every day. But at my farm on the hill-top I have the wind for a fairy, And the shapes of things: Shady Bronn is the name of my little farm: It is the name of a dream I have Where leaves move, And the wind rings them like little bells. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHIP OF RIO by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE SONNET: FOR INSPIRATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI ON IMAGINATION by PHILLIS WHEATLEY PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 54. AL-KAWI by EDWIN ARNOLD SUNSET ON THE ORANGE MOUNTAINS by ADRIAN BERKOWITZ THE CORRELATION by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN CLOD OF THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |