In a far-distant land they dwell, Incomprehensible, Who love the shadow more than light, More than the sun the moon, Cool evening more than noon, Pale silver more than gold that glitters bright. A dark cloud overhangs their land Like a mighty hand, Never moving from above it; A cool shade and moist and dim, With a twilight-purple rim, And they love it. And sometimes it giveth rain, But soon it ceaseth as before, And earth drieth up again; Then the dews rise more and more, Till it filleth, dropping o'er; But no forked lightnings flit, And no thunders roll in it. Thro' the land a river flows; With a sleepy sound it goes; Such a drowsy noise, in sooth, Those who will not listen, hear not; But if one is wakeful, fear not; It shall lull him to repose, Bringing back the dream's of youth. Hemlock groweth, poppy bloweth In the fields where no man moweth; And the vine is full of wine And are full of milk the kine, And the hares are all secure, And the birds are wild no more, And the forest-trees wax old, And winds stir, or hot, or cold, And yet no man taketh care, All things resting everywhere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH YOU ARE COMING by SARA TEASDALE FREDERICK DOUGLASS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 12. AT THE DRAPER'S by THOMAS HARDY THE EXEQUY [ON HIS WIFE] by HENRY KING (1592-1669) THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |