Lord, if that Cloud still grows and swells, To reach the Sun at last What a fine nipple she will have On the top of her white breast! And does this Blackbird, singing here, Up on my Sycamore bough, Make that his richest Summer's yarn, To last the season through; Or is he blind, to Cloud and Sun, And sings but from content Because his body feels no pain, And his mind has no complaint? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF YORK by JOHN DRYDEN SONNET: 129 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO A WESTERN BOY by WALT WHITMAN OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 12. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE EIGHTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. ARENZANO by EDWARD CARPENTER THE ROSCIAD by CHARLES CHURCHILL |