SHE brought with her the freshness of the morn, The vivid beauty of a harvest scene; Her glowing skin was like the ripened corn, Her lips the poppies that do blow between. All dusky was her hair, as when there lies Deep shadow underneath the elms, a boon To weary reapers in the scorching noon; And lo! God's peace was laid upon her eyes. Her presence had the richness of a rose That blooms alone in some still garden place; She moved melodiously, as water flows, And tranquil visions floated round her face, Or like fine odours drifted from her gown, Of English lanes, and hazel-shaded stiles, Or gabled roofs, and fluted, crimson tiles Of some old water-fondled, Flemish town. Men saw no more the blinding stony street, But stood where beeches build the fanes of rest; They heard no more the tramp of aching feet, But sound of some cool stream across whose breast In sweet abandonment a willow lies. She had day's radiance with the calm of night, And few despair of peace who saw the light Wherewith God starred the darkness of her eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN JANUARY by GORDON BOTTOMLEY DREAM SONG: 1 by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ISAAC AND ARCHIBALD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A SNOWFLAKE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH LINES ON THE COTTAGE AT THE FOOT OF BOX HILL, SURREY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ENOUGH by OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM SOLOMON'S SONG by REGINA MIRIAM BLOCH IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO RALPH LEYCESTER, ESQ. ON HIS SENDING THE AUTHOR A HARE by JOHN BYROM |