THE bluest gray -- the grayest blue, Where golden, gleaming stars are set; A moon whose glorious yellow waves Make fair the rippled rivulet. Night has her curtain over all; The firs show dark against the sky; The only sound is in the song Of a late nightingale close by. The wooded walks, which seemed so sweet Seen in the morning's fairy light, Now, dim and shadowy, hold no charm Save the mysterious charm of night. One swallow stirs, the gold stars fade, In the cold sky a chill wind wakes; The gray clouds frighten out the morn, And through pale mist the new day breaks. Good-morn -- good-night -- which is the best? God grant some day that I may find Both true: good-morn to joy begun, Good-night to sorrows left behind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALONE (2) by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE CALL TO THE COLORS by ARTHUR GUITERMAN BUCOLIC COMEDY: AUBADE by EDITH SITWELL STORM AT SEA (2) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE AN EPITAPH, ON A FOOLISH BOASTER by PHILIP AYRES THE VALLEY OF FERN: PART 1 by BERNARD BARTON TORRISMOND; AN UNFINISHED DRAMA by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE FROM O-- by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |