@3THE lake's a lake of purple wine, The sun's gold is beneath the hill, On the hill's ridge a star doth shine: I lie a-dreaming: let me dream still.@1 Through a rift in Heaven's blue floor I see into God's eternity; Mary sits at an open door, A score babe-angels press her nigh. A score young earth-born wanderlings Gathered new into Mary's fold; Only to-day they got their wings, Plumes of azure and rose and gold. Babes from north and babes from south, Babes from east and babes from west; Each has a kiss from Mary's mouth, Each in turn lies on her breast. It's "Oh, we are all motherless, And lost from home," the children cry; As closer round her knees they press, There stands a tear in Mary's eye. "Hushee, hushee, my children sweet; I hear your mothers following ye. Hist to the sound of their rushing feet! Until they come, bide close to me!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW by ABRAHAM COWLEY HOLY SONNET: ANNUNCIATION by JOHN DONNE SCHOOL AND SCHOOLFELLOWS; FLOREAT ETONA by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED ON THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF READING MATTER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IMAGES: 4 by RICHARD ALDINGTON A DESCRIPTION OF LONDON by JOHN BANCKS TO A FATHER, ON THE DEATH OF HIS ONLY CHILD by BERNARD BARTON |