She hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge, And all her flowers are snowdrops grown on the winter's edge: The golden looms of Tir na n' Og wove all the winter through Her gown of mist and raindrops, shot with a cloudy blue. Sunlight she holds in one hand, and rain she scatters after, And through the rainy twilight we hear her fitful laughter; She shakes down on her flowers the snows less white than they, Then quickens with her kisses the folded "knots o'May." She seeks the summer-lover that never shall be hers, Fain for gold leaves of autumn she passes by the furze, Though buried gold it hideth: she scorns her sedgy crown, And pressing blindly sunwards she treads her snowdrops down. Her gifts are all a fardel of wayward smiles and tears, Yet hope she also holdeth, this daughter of the years-- A hope that blossoms faintly set upon sorrow's edge: She hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS by WALT WHITMAN PALINODE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WHITE HEAD by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 88. AL-MUGHNI by EDWIN ARNOLD |