THE cloud looked in at the window, And said to the day, "Be dark!" And the roguish rain tapped hard on the pane, To stifle the song of the lark. The wind sprang up in the tree tops And shrieked with a voice of death, But the rough-voiced breeze, that shook the trees, Was touched with a violet's breath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THISTLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS FLANNAN ISLE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON WHEN I'M KILLED by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE HERITAGE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE INCURABLE; A SONG by PHILIP AYRES TO HIS GRACE, GEORGE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND by PHILIP AYRES TO DR. AIKIN ON HIS COMPLAINING THAT SHE NEGLECTED HIM by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 8 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |