This reach of sagebrush with its windy hill Framed by my doorway, is a troubled place Known only to my dreams, remembered still In daylight hours to haunt them for a space. It seems that I shall presently awake In some azalea-scented dark once more, Where swans are drifting down a quiet lake, Curving their silver arc along the shore. And faintly now I almost thought I heard -- As one would hear across the verge of sleep -- Out of the grey wind's sudden lull, in bars Of gold, the slender rapture of a bird -- A rift of joy that no wild throat could keep, Taking its flight among the listening stars. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST by ALISON RUTHERFORD ARAB LOVE SONG by FRANCIS THOMPSON MEADOW-SAFFRON by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE SPRING MORNING by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |