BY the Runic Stone They sat, where the grass sloped down, And chattered, he white-hatted, she in brown, Pink-faced, breeze-blown. Rapt there alone In the transport of talking so In such a place, there was nothing to let them know What hours had flown. And the die thrown By them heedlessly there, the dent It was to cut in their encompassment, Were, too, unknown. It might have strown Their zest with qualms to see, As in a glass, Time toss their history From zone to zone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE GIRL LOST, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE DEATH AND CUPID; AN ALLEGORY by JOHN GODFREY SAXE INTERVAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE TRUE LOVER by SIMON BOUGOING BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO LORD ZOUCH by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE STUDENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |