WHAT good were it to dim the pleasure-glow, That lights thy cheek, fair Girl, in scenes like these, By shameful facts, and piteous histories? While we enjoy, what matters what we know? What tender love-sick looks on us below Those Mountains cast! how courteously the Trees Raise up their branching heads in calices For the thick Vine to fill and overflow! This nature is like Thee, all-bright, all-mild; If then some self-wise man should say, that here Hate, sin, and death held rule for many a year, That of this kindliest earth there's not a rood But has been saturate with brother's blood, -- Believe him not, believe him not, my Child. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS IN ABSENCE: 7. THE SHIP by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH LEMON PIE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 13. ENVOI, 1919 by EZRA POUND THE DOOR-BELL by CHARLOTTE BECKER THE SAME FOREVER by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR THE JOURNEY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THAT DAY by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 3. IN ENGLAND: THE ALOE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |