Through the slumberous, level masses of leaves, The dusky, soft foretoken of green, Gently the promise of morning weaves Hints of the sky more felt than seen. There is no light but light in a dream, And forms that flow to a formless dark, Softly flow as a sleeping stream, Dully float as an anchored bark. And yet the woodland is slowly astir, The masses are lifted and breathing fall; Breath of Her and stirrings of Her, For the body of Day is under it all! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EIGHT O'CLOCK by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE PORTENT by HERMAN MELVILLE DRINKING SONG (1) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THANKSGIVING DAY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A GARDEN SPOT by PRINGLE BARRET PRESENTIMENT by AMBROSE BIERCE |