There are three bonnie Scottish melodies, So native to the music of my soul, That of its humours they seem prophecies. The ravishment of Chaucer was less whole, Less perfect, when the April nightingale Let itself in upon him. Surely, Lord! Before whom psaltery and clarichord, Concentual with saintly song, prevail, There lurks some subtle sorcery, to Thee And heaven akin, in each woe-burning air! @3Land of the Leal,@1 and @3Bonnie Bessie Lee,@1 And @3Home, Sweet Home,@1 the lilt of love's despair. Now, in remembrance even, the feeling speak, For lo! a shower of grace is on my cheek. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 5. MARYLAND by CLARENCE MAJOR SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 13 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING PANDOSTO, THE TRIUMPH OF TIME: IN PRAISE OF HIS BEST-BELOVED FAWNIA by ROBERT GREENE ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES by JOHN KEATS |