SOFT days whose silver moments keep The constant promise of the morn, When tired equinoctials sleep, And wintry winds are yet unborn: What one of all the twelve more dear -- Thou truce and Sabbath of the year? More restful art thou than the May, And if less hope be in thy hand, Some cares't were grief to understand Thou hidest, in the mother's way, With light and mist of fairy-land Set on the borders of the day. And, best of all, thou dost beguile With color, -- friendliest thought of God! Than thine hath heaven itself a smile More rich? Are feet of angels shod With peace more fair? O month divine! Stay, till thy tranquil soul be mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEETING AT NIGHT by ROBERT BROWNING TICHBORNE'S ELEGY, WRITTEN IN THE TOWER BEFORE HIS EXECUTION by CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE THE RIGHT MARY by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY EVENING MYSTERY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN DISCOVERY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |