FROM day to day the dreary heaven Outpoured its hopeless heart in rain; The conscious pines, half shuddering, heard The secret of the East wind's pain. Mist veiled the sun -- the sombre land, In floating cloud-wracks densely furled, Seemed shut forever from the bloom And gladness of the living world. From week to week the changeless heaven Wept on -- and still its secret pain To the bent pine-trees sobbed the wind, In hollow truces of the rain. Till in a sunset hour, whose light Pale hints of radiance pulsed o'erhead, Afar the moaning East wind died, And the mild West wind breathed instead. Then the clouds broke, and ceased the rain; The sunset many a kindling shaft Shot to the wood's heart; nature rose, And through her soft-lipped verdures laughed. Low to the breeze; as some fair maid, Love wakes from troublous dreams, might rise, Half dazed, yet happy -- mists of sleep Still hovering in her haunted eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE PRISONER OF CHILLON: INTRODUCTORY SONNET by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ASTRONOMY by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A MINUET ON REACHING THE AGE OF FIFTY by GEORGE SANTAYANA DAFFODILS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |