TIRED with the day's monotony of dreamed joys I turn to a requickening voice, A voice whose low tone devastates with nightly thrill The cities I have wrought at will: Stone forts depart, and armies heroic flee away Like the wild snow of spray. Deep down the green Broceliande's branch'd corridors That voice of April pours; Light as a bird's light shadow fled across my pages A touch disturbs the ages, And the crags and spears of Troy and the courts of Charlemain, Odin, and the splendid strain Of Cuchullain's self, that with his heart's high brother strove, -- Fade, at the low voice I love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF A PHOTOGRAPHER by KAREN SWENSON MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM SONNET ON CATHERINE WORDSWORTH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH COMMENDATORY VERSE FOR THE FAERIE QUEENE by H. B. THE CONTRAST; THE SUNNY SIDE by LEVI BISHOP |