A BIRD called—called— Then briefly hushed. Swift mounting the sky Morning flushed, And shadows, blanching, Westward rushed. Lovelier hue Was never seen— Not the sunny starling In gilded sheen, Nor gliding kingfisher's Gold and green; Nor the wild apple Paling as it shakes, Nor shining water That the image takes Of thorn and lilac And a new thicket makes. Nothing so sweet, Nothing so swift. Dies the flush in the east, And shadows drift Slowly round; And Morn's gray eyes lift To that frore height Now harsh and wan With Winter's breath, Where the Moon sleeps on In smiling dream of Dead Endymion. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH, SWEET CONTENT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE LONG WHITE SEAM by JEAN INGELOW WITCH-WIFE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY LIFE AND YOU by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |