THE charlock and the hemlock flowers Have hung their laces o'er the green; The buttercups are bright and sheen As though the Spring were ours. But through the poplar-rank there shines The white interminable way; And down the hill the budding vines Go softly gloved in grey. Amid a purer loftier sky The foreign sun burns far and bright: ...O mistier fields! O tenderer light! I pause awhile and sigh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SALLY SIMKIN'S LAMENT by THOMAS HOOD WHAT OF THE DARKNESS?; TO THE HAPPY DEAD PEOPLE by RICHARD THOMAS LE GALLIENNE THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY ON BEING ASKED IF ONE WAS A NUMBER, REPLY TO MR. HOUGHTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 11 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE CALL by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON |