SAD-EYED AND SOFT AND GREY THOU ART, O MORN! Across the long grass of the marshy plain Thy west wind whispers of the coming rain, Thy lark forgets that May is grown forlorn Above the lush blades of the springing corn, Thy thrush within the high elms strives in vain To store up tales of spring for summer's pain -- Vain day, why wert thou from the dark night born? O many-voiced strange morn, why must thou break With vain desire the softness of my dream Where she and I alone on earth did seem? How hadst thou heart from me that land to take Wherein she wandered softly for my sake And I and she no harm of love might deem? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AGED STRANGER; AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR by FRANCIS BRET HARTE ROLL-CALL by NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD THERE WAS A CHILD WENT FORTH by WALT WHITMAN WITH COLORS GAY by HOWARD S. ABBOTT HYMNE (TO BE SUNG WITH THREE VOICES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE OLD HOUSE by GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN LOVE IN A LIFE by ROBERT BROWNING STANZAS, ON PLANTING A BAY-TREE AT THE GRAVE OF CHURCHILL by JOHN CHALK CLARIS |