The stormy silence stirs and hums. Will there be none that this way comes? Cobblestones count geraniums. Geraniums count the cobblestones. Dream, young girl, at your casement high. Shelled green peas before you lie. They plump the apron white you try with rosy finger-tips to tie. I pass, in black from head to feet. Is it forked lightning troubles thee, young maiden, or the sight of me? The peas have fallen in the street. Sombre, I pass. Behind I see cobblestones count each fallen pea. The stormy silence stirs and hums. Will there be none that this way comes? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH! WEEP FOR THOSE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR PRELUDES: 1-4 (COMPLETE) by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT THE BEGGAR'S HOLIDAY, FR. BEGGAR'S BUSH by JOHN FLETCHER HARRY PLOUGHMAN by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |