WOULD that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my clod of misery Into delight. Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast As yon red rose, and dare the day, All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest? Say yea -- say yea! Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye; The wind is up; so; drift away. That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly, I strive, I pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE BEST THING: 1. WORK by HENRY VAN DYKE A VISION OF THE VOICE OF YAHVEH by AMOS AURORA LEIGH: BOOK 4 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: CONDEMNED ONES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON A SONG by IVAN ALEKSEYEVITCH (ALEXEYVICH) BUNIN STANZAS IN PROSPECT OF DEATH by ROBERT BURNS THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY by GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF TWO COCKSCOMBS by WILLIAM COWPER |