THE boy will come no more Although I listen and long; The sound of his feet on the floor Was like an old song. His foot had the music in it, And now the music's dumb— Like the song of the lark or linnet Glad that Spring's come. There's nothing stirring at all,— 'Tis quiet all by yourself,— But a wee mouse in the wall, The clock ticks on the shelf? Like the song of the lark or linnet, That's singing early and soon, His foot had the music in it Like an old tune. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A LONDON PLANE-TREE by AMY LEVY THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE by ALFRED TENNYSON THE VEERY'S FLUTE by LUCY BRANCH ALLEN THE GODODDIN: CARADOC by ANEIRIN RHAPSODY by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS A PSALM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |