I LIE in wait that I may steal a view Of truth as lovely as the spires of larch Rising in limpid skies. But wandering March Eludes me though I watch the swift year through July to June: all visions dawn from you. Though I look steadily across the arch Of my own youth; though many splendors parch My blood, your wisdom, Sweet, alone I listen to. Yet I would win a beauty all my own, Too fine for derivation or confiding, -- Surprise a truth your love has never shown My servile glance; my themes, by living them, Shall grow like laden branches from a stem, And I shall break them off at their dividing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON HUNTINGDON'S 'MIRANDA' by SIDNEY LANIER THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE CHESSBOARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON ODE ON MELANCHOLY by JOHN KEATS ODE (MUSIC-MAKERS) by ARTHUR WILLIAM EDGAR O'SHAUGHNESSY THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 15 by OMAR KHAYYAM |