FROM labours through the night, outworn, Above the hills the front of morn We see, whose eyes to heights are raised, And the world's wise may deem us crazed. While yet her lord lies under seas, She takes us as the wind the trees' Delighted leafage; all in song We mount to her, to her belong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THAT VAGRANT MISTRAL VEXING THE SUN: A FAR CRY by DARA WIER A TIME TO TALK by ROBERT FROST LITANY by ROBERT GRANT (1785-1838) I AM THE WAY' by ALICE MEYNELL SUNDAY MORNING by WALLACE STEVENS TO A SNOWFLAKE by FRANCIS THOMPSON |