A when a maid awakes at matin toll, With mouth still pouted to a half-dreamt kiss, So, by this beauty strangely stirred, my soul Leans to some partly apprehended bliss. I dimly feel, and yet in vain would read The darling secret of this day's blue eye: Hear what the river tells the willow weed The while he weds her to the stooping sky. I only know this comes, O God, from Thee— A straying leaf from bays about Thy hair Or fragment of Thy raiment's broidery— Since none but Thou couldst leave a trace so fair. For still we question every floating thing For news of absent Love's imperial wing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEMOIR OF A PROUD BOY by CARL SANDBURG IN A STRANGE CITY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER PICTURES OF MEMORY by ALICE CARY THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE PESSIMIST by BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KING HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: SUNRISE by SIDNEY LANIER ST. JOHN'S, CAMBRIDGE; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |