From Day's fair face the smile is gone; And in those languid eyes The soft light dimmer grows; while on Her brow so chaste there lies The damp of Nature's kiss,—as to her rest she hies. Except that wilful wind,—each thing Moves now with tip-toe tread, Strange, liveried ones are minist'ring In silence round her bed, And lo, a jewelled coverlet o'er her they spread! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 8. ON LEAVING HOLLAND by MARK AKENSIDE VILLANELLE: AU RETOUR DU PRINTEMPS by PHILIP SCHUYLER ALLEN CHORUS OF THE CLOUD-MAIDEN: ANTISTROPHE, FR. THE CLOUDS by ARISTOPHANES |