The hills are tipped with sunshine, while I walk In shadows dim and cold: The unawakened rose sleeps on her stalk In a bud's fold. Until the sun flood all the world with gold. The hills are crowned with glory, and the glow Flows widening down apace: Unto the sunny hill-tops I, set low, Lift a tired face, ''" Ah happy rose, content to wait for grace! How tired a face, how tired a brain, A heart I lift, who long For something never felt but still desired; Sunshine and song, Song where the choirs of sunny heaven stand choired. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ORANGUTAN REHAB by KAREN SWENSON WHY I AM A LIBERAL by ROBERT BROWNING NAMES by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE EPIGRAM: A BURNT SHIP by JOHN DONNE NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SOUL AND BODY by ANDREW MARVELL SONNET: 9. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY by JOHN MILTON MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION: TO EXCELLENCIES THE LORDS JUSTICES OF IRELAND by JONATHAN SWIFT |