ABOUT my window in a wreath, Pink roses yield their spiced breath, So that I can see and know The very way that roses grow, From the pink shoot upon the stem Unto the fullest diadem. All night the fragrant dew and cool Lies like a little silver pool About the corncrake's feet; he stalks By emerald and by amber walks, And is ensilvered by the moon From his grey head to his grey shoon. The wood-dove croons me into rest; Night has a soft and dreamless breast; The cuckoo hales me wide awake From the far hill, the distant brake, Shouting his cuckoo-call in showers Over my bed as it were flowers. Such quietness on vale and hill, Such skies of rose and daffodil And primrose, and the sleepy folk Wrapped in the silence as a cloak Broidered with roses small and close. My dreams are drenched with attar of rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TURKISH LEGEND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO THE KING OF THULE by HENRI ALLORGE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 43. ALLAH-AL-KARIM by EDWIN ARNOLD NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 21 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT REQUIESCIT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |