I sang the songs of red revenge, And I sang the stillness of wood-shadowed waters, But no one companioned me; Rigid, lonely, As the locust sings to itself, To myself I sang my song. Now my steps vanish, grown faint In the sands of lassitude. For weariness my eyes are failing me, I am tired of comfortless fords, Of sea-crossing, of girls, of streets, At the gulf's edge I do not remember The shields and the spears. Blown upon by birches, By winds over-shadowed, I fall asleep to the sound of a harp Whose music Joyfully drips from under another's fingers. I do not stir, For all thoughts and all acts Trouble the limpid eyes of the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARIA WENTWORTH by THOMAS CAREW MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 14 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IN SICKNESS (1714) by JONATHAN SWIFT THE BLACKBIRD by ALFRED TENNYSON AMONG THE HEATHER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |