Where the wet bank shines With the celandines, And the marigolds mock the moon, Where the violets tender Their deep hearts render To the blackbirds' wistful tune, Where the woolly sheep In their hurdles sleep And the rooks caw from the trees, I must go; for the end Is at hand, my friend, And my heart is sick for these. I must go; for the end Is near, my friend; We have lived. Let loose my hand! I can get no ease In my death, Felise, If I die not in my own land. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE FUNERAL OF A MINOR POET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH OUR PASSWORD by ISIDORE G. ASCHER TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.; POET LAUREATE AND HISTOGRAPHER ROYAL by PHILIP AYRES NUPTIAL ODE ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |