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 I How tired a face, how tired a brain, how tired 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...THE BOOK [OF THE WORLD] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES QUITS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE CUCKOO by ALEXANDER ANDERSON A PREPARATORY HYMNE TO THE WEEK OF MEDITACIONS UPON, & DEVOUT EXERCISE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: THE SLIGHT AND DEGENERATE NATURE OF MAN by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |