So is it with this singing art of ours, That once with maids went maidenlike, and played With woven dances in the poplar-shade; And all her song was but of lady's bowers And the returning swallows, and spring-flowers, Till forth to seek a shadow-queen she strayed, A shadowy land; and now hath overweighed Her singing chaplet with the snow and showers. Yea, fair well-water for the bitter brine She left, and by the margin of life's sea Sings, and her song is full of the sea's moan, And wild with dread, and love of Proserpine; And whoso once has listened to her, he His whole life long is slave to her alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN A SWEDISH GRAVEYARD by EMMA LAZARUS REALITY REQUIRES by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA PALABRAS CARINOSAS (SPANISH AIR) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION (A) by WILLIAM BLAKE |