The storm had well nigh gone; no fitful blast Lifted the weeping willow into heaven, To let it fall and weep again, downcast; How often is such fickle comfort given! How peaceful seemed the far up floating rook, Crossing with jetty wing the full white cloud, As to the blue beyond his way he took; While, in the grove, a lingering breeze allowed The sight to catch, 'mid play of wind and sun, The uncertain shadows of that woodland nook, Swallowing the silent shafts of light that run Along the spider's thread; on nature's book I love to pore, and mark what soars on high, Or lurks in bye-paths for the observant eye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INSTANS TYRANNUS by ROBERT BROWNING CHRISTMAS CAROL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR MELANCHOLIA by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR EPIGRAM: 45. ON MY FIRST SON by BEN JONSON THE MARRIAGE VOW by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE JACQUERIE: SONG. THE HOUND by SIDNEY LANIER |