THIS is the wood oft visited in dreams, The longed-for scent of pines is in the air, And this the pictured beech whose foliage streams Like tresses of some mighty angel's hair. But now, too late, my very feet may stand Where long the unsubstantial dream feet stood; Regret hath marshalled here her phantom band And left no place for joy in all the wood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OWEN SEAMAN; ESTABLISHES ENTENE CORDIALE IN MANNER GUY WETMORE CARRYL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE MASTER-PLAYER by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FOR A RETURN by A. A. ANDRIELLO THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND THE CRANES by JAMES BEATTIE THE LINE MEN by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |