THIS is her couch, this is her very nest, But O the pillow is untenanted By her incredible, dear and drowsy head, And sleepy eyes of loveliness-at-rest; And easily with the first dawn I guessed Whose voice awoke me there—did not the bed Itself complain: 'Ah, whither is she fled For whom with cunning comfort I am dressed?' I answer then and cry: 'O yet awhile Be patient, gentle friend; she comes to-day, To-night your frame shall love to feel her weight. Sleep through the sunny hours, nor more revile Their length than I; she is upon her way, Who never yet broke promise or was late.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF DISTRESS BEING HUMILIATED BY THE CLASSICAL CHINESE POETS by HAYDEN CARRUTH MEMORIAL VERSES by MATTHEW ARNOLD CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS; OR, NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND by ROBERT BROWNING CENTENNIAL MEDITATION OF COLUMBIA by SIDNEY LANIER RETURN OF SPRING by PIERRE DE RONSARD ELEGIAC SONNET: 44. WRITTEN IN THE CHURCH YARD AT MIDDLETON IN SUSSEX by CHARLOTTE SMITH WINTER FANTASY by ADELE BABBITT THE IMPROVISATORE: ALBERT AND EMILY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |