IT is the mid-May Sun, that, rayless and peacefully gleaming, Out of its night's short prison, this blessed of lands is redeeming; It is the fire evoked from the hearts of the citron and orange, So that they hang, like lamps of the day, translucently beaming; It is the veinless water, and air unsoiled by a vapour, Save what, out of the fullness of life, from the valley is steaming; It is the olive that smiles, even he, the sad growth of the moonlight, Over the flowers, whose breasts triple-folded with odours are teeming; Yes, it is these bright births, that to me are a shame and an anguish, @3They@1 are alive and awake, -- @3I@1 dream, and know I am dreaming; I cannot bathe @3my@1 soul in this ocean of passion and beauty, -- Not @3one@1 dew-drop is on me of all that about me is streaming; Oh! I am thirsty for Life, -- I pant for the freshness of Nature, Bound in the World's dead sleep -- dried up by its treacherous seeming. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...23RD STREET RUNS INTO HEAVEN by KENNETH PATCHEN THE RIVER AND THE SEA by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) DEAD JOYS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 16 by THOMAS CAMPION STORMS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE WORKINGMAN by RICHARD DEHMEL |