Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, So loud with voices of the birds, So thick with lowings of the herds, Day, when I lost the flower of men; Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red On you swollen brook that bubbles fast By meadows breathing of the past, And woodlands holy to the dead; Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves A song that slights the coming care, And Autumn laying here and there A fiery finger on the leaves; Who wakenest with thy balmy breath To myriads on the genial earth, Memories of bridal, or of birth, And unto myriads more, of death. O, wheresoever those may be, Betwixt the slumber of the poles, To-day they count as kindred souls; They know me not, but mourn with me | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VILLAGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ARISTOPHANES' APOLOGY; BEING THE LAST ADVENTURE OF BALAUSTION: PART 3 by ROBERT BROWNING ASOLANDO: PROLOGUE by ROBERT BROWNING HELIOS HYPERIONIDES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON IMITATION OF TIBULLUS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WAR IS KIND: 36 by STEPHEN CRANE |