THE windy evening drops a grey Old eyelid down across the sun, The last crow leaves the ploughman's way, And happy lambs make no more fun. Wild parsley buds beside my feet, A doubtful thrush makes hurried tune, The steeple in the village street Doth seem to pierce the twilight moon. I hear and see those changing charms, For all -- my thoughts are fixed upon The hurry and the loud alarms Before the fall of Babylon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY SHADOW by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS by AESCHYLUS A FRAGMENT OF AN EPIC POEM, OCCASIONED BY THE LOSS OF A GAME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LILIES: 2. MY SWORD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TRANSFERABLE MERIT by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE A LETTER: A MANDARIN TO HIS WIFE by JESSIE MCINTOSH BROWN |