Still pressing through these weeping solitudes, Perchance I snatch a beam of comfort bright And pause to fix the gleam or lose it quite That darkens as I move or but intrudes To baffle and forelay: as sometimes here, When late at night the waried engineer Driving his engine up through Whately woods Sees on the track a glimmering lantern light And checks his crashing speed, with hasty hand Reversing and retarding;--but again, Look where it burns, a furlong on before! The witchlight of the reedy rivershore, The pilot of the forest and the fen, Not to be left, but with the waste woodland. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 1 by EDWARD TAYLOR SONGS OF LABOR: DEDICATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER MEMORY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS VILE SPRING! by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |