WHAT dost thou here, Thou dusky courtier, Within the pinky palace of the rose? Here is no bed for thee, No honeyed spicery, -- But for the golden bee, And the gay wind, and me, Its sweetness grows. Rover, thou dost forget; -- Seek thou the passion-flower Bloom of one twilight hour. Haste, thou art late! Its hidden savors wait. For thee is spread Its soft, purple coverlet; Moth, art thou sped? -- Dim as a ghost he flies Thorough the night mysteries. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUMMER NIGHT-BROADWAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TWELVE SONNETS: 9. WEARINESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE LIFE THAT IS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT CLOWN AND KING by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A SAINT'S HOURS by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN |