BLAME not my vacant looks; it is not true, That my discourteous thoughts did vainly stray Out of the presence of your gentle lay, While other eager listeners nearer drew, Though sooth I hardly heard a note; for you, Most cunning songstress, did my soul convey Over the fields of space, far, far away, To the dear garden-land, where long it grew. Thus, all that time, beneath the ilex roof Of an old Alban hill, I lay aloof, With the cicala faintly clittering near, Till, as your song expired, the clouds that pass Athwart the Roman plain, as o'er a glass, Thickened, and bade the vision disappear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL by KATHARINE LEE BATES DON JUAN: CANTO 1 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS EMPTY PURSE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER A PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE by FRANCES (FANNY) MACARTNEY GREVILLE THE CROSS TRIUMPHANT by HARRY HOWE BOGERT MY HERO; TO ROBERT GOULD SHAW by BENJAMIN GRIFFITH BRAWLEY |