O Lover, for the maze of doom Is thine the golden clue? Down by the sullen alder-pool The wood is grown for you. Across the black and freshening field, Beneath the bitter blue, A Sower swings his rhythmic hands. Hempseed is sown for you. What matter—if the love of Love Be coft with all the shame! By water, land, or giddy air The sleep is much the same! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON MY SISTER'S SLEEP by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO WORDSWORTH by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY TO AMERICA, ON HER FIRST SONS FALLEN IN THE GREAT WAR by E. M. WALKER ANDRE'S LAST REQUEST [OR, REQUEST TO WASHINGTON] [OCTOBER 1, 1780] by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS PLAYING IT SAFE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A SONG FOR THE SINGLE TABLE ON NEW YEAR'S DAY by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST |