On the river, in the shallows, on the shore, Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb; O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before Utter gloom. Only here betwixt the ramparts of tall trees, In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar, Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze, Scarce a star. Where the shadow of the ruined water-mill Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet, And the warm air seems to slumber over-still, Over-sweet, Hark the Night-jar! In the meadows by the stream Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well, For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream, Or a spell. All the nightingales along the bowery reach Plain together when the midnight moon is bright: This bird only knows the secret speech Of dark night. Turn the boat now. Row away, friends. Let us hence, Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath, Plunge us one and all into that dream intense Which is Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE IN AUTUMN by SARA TEASDALE PHILIP, MY KING by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK SETTING SAIL by EMILY DICKINSON SALLY SIMKIN'S LAMENT by THOMAS HOOD DRINKING SONG, FR. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL by RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN COLIN CLOUTS COME HOME AGAIN by EDMUND SPENSER THE DEAD DRUMMER; A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |