JUST where the street of the village ends, Over the road an oak-tree tall, Curving in more than a crescent, bends With an arch like the gate of a Moorish wall. Over across the river there, Looking under the arch, one sees The sunshine slant through the distant air, And burn on the cliff and the tufted trees. Each day, hurrying through the town, I stop an instant, early or late, As I cross the street, and glancing down I catch a glimpse through the Moorish gate. Only a moment there I stand, But I look through that loop in the dusty air, Into a far-off fairyland, Where all seems calm, and kind, and fair. So sometimes at the end of a thought, Where with a vexing doubt we've striven, A sudden, sunny glimpse is caught Of an open arch, and a peaceful heaven. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER DISDAIN RETURNED by THOMAS CAREW ULYSSES AND THE SIREN by SAMUEL DANIEL AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 7. AFTER THE FAIR by THOMAS HARDY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 11 by ALFRED TENNYSON ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 34. MUTABILITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |