All my stars forsake me, And the dawn-winds shake me. Where shall I betake me? Whither shall I run Till the set of sun, Till the day be done? To the mountain-mine, To the boughs o' the pine, To the blind man's eyne, To a brow that is Bowed upon the knees, Sick with memories. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE POWER OF ART by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE PROSPECT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE SPIRES OF OXFORD by WINIFRED MARY LETTS THE FIRST SNOWFALL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SAINT BRIDE'S LULLABY by WILLIAM SHARP BLESSING THE LIGHTS by ALTER ABELSON BY THE SALPETRIERE by THOMAS ASHE |