Now standing on this hedgeside path, Up which the evening winds are blowing Wildly from the lingering lines Of sunset o'er the hills; Unaided by one motive thought, My spirit with a strange impulsion Rises, like a fledgling, Whose wings are not mature, but still Supported by its strong desire Beats up its native air and leaves The tender mother's nest. Great music under heaven is made, And in the track of rushing darkness Comes the solemn shape of night, And broods above the earth. A thing of Nature am I now, Abroad, without a sense or feeling Born not of her bosom; Content with all her truths and fates; Ev'n as yon strip of grass that bows Above the new-born violet bloom, And sings with wood and field. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PENDULUM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO MY MYRTLE [MIRTLE] by WILLIAM BLAKE MORTAL COMBAT by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE BURY ME IN A FREE LAND by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER THE DAY-DREAM: THE SLEEPING BEAUTY by ALFRED TENNYSON |