Ah passionate is rest when to the earth I yield in full length contact of sweet pain! Here just within the bars in the chill grass, And the great shadow of a fruitless tree, I at once sleep and am awake in joy. And when I sit half-conscious on the slope, And lean upon one grass-wrought hand and gaze, The lone thrush gurgles nectar in his throat, On some green spire, adjusting his furled wings, The local cricket quavers to the wind, And every one that passes looks at me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO DEATH OF HIS LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON LOVE POSTPONED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT |