THERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW NEIGHBORHOOD by KAREN SWENSON UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 6. A VISIT FROM THE SEA by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A SONNET. THE ROSE AND LILY by PHILIP AYRES THE VALLEY OF REMORSE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SATAN ABSOLVED; A VICTORIAN MYSTERY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ON THE DEATH OF COMMODORE OLIVER H. PERRY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |