IN this old porch, fast mouldering to decay, But wreathed in vines and girt by shadowy trees, All day I hear the dreamful hum of bees, Soft-rustling foliage, and the fragrant sway Of breezes borne from some far ocean bay; And oft with half-closed eyelids, stretched at ease -- The pines above me voiced like distant seas -- I seem to mark a coy young Dryad stray Out from the tangled greenery overhead, Her brow leaf-crowned, her eyes of twilight fire Deep with Arcadian mysteries softly shed; And near her, wafted from the ambrosial South, A white-limbed Nereid, round whose balmy mouth Breathe the wave's freshness and the wind's desire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NET TO SNARE THE MOONLIGHT by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY THE TUFT OF KELP by HERMAN MELVILLE A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING by JOHN SUCKLING ELEGIAC STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PICTURESQUE; A FRAGMENT by JOHN AIKIN |