Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MY DOVES, by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My little doves have left a nest Last Line: My seaward hill, my boundless sea. Subject(s): Doves | ||||||||
MY little doves have left a nest Upon an Indian tree Whose leaves fantastic take their rest Or motion from the sea; For ever there the sea-winds go With sunlit paces to and fro. The tropic flowers looked up to it, The tropic stars looked down, And there my little doves did sit With feathers softly brown, And glittering eyes that showed their right To general Nature's deep delight. And God them taught, at every close Of murmuring waves beyond And green leaves round, to interpose Their choral voices fond, Interpreting that love must be The meaning of the earth and sea. Fit ministers! Of living loves Theirs hath the calmest fashion, Their living voice the likest moves To lifeless intonation, The lovely monotone of springs And winds and such insensate things. My little doves were ta'en away From that glad nest of theirs Across an ocean rolling gray And tempest-clouded airs: My little doves, who lately knew The sky and wave by warmth and blue. And now, within the city prison, In mist and chillness pent, With sudden upward look they listen For sounds of past content, For lapse of water, swell of breeze, Or nut-fruit falling from the trees. The stir without the glow of passion, The triumph of the mart, The gold and silver as they clash on Man's cold metallic heart, The roar of wheels, the cry for bread, -- These only sounds are heard instead. Yet still, as on my human hand Their fearless heads they lean, And almost seem to understand What human musings mean, (Their eyes with such a plaintive shine Are fastened upwardly to mine!) -- Soft falls their chant as on the nest Beneath the sunny zone; For love that stirred it in their breast Has not aweary grown, And 'neath the city's shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love, that keeps the music, fills With pastoral memories; All echoings from out the hills, All droppings from the skies, All flowings from the wave and wind, Remembered in their chant, I find. So teach ye me the wisest part, My little doves! to move Along the city-ways with heart Assured by holy love, And vocal with such songs as own A fountain to the world unknown. 'T was hard to sing by Babel's stream -- More hard, in Babel's street: But if the soulless creatures deem Their music not unmeet For sunless walls -- let us begin, Who wear immortal wings within! To me, fair memories belong Of scenes that used to bless, For no regret, but present song And lasting thankfulness, And very soon to break away, Like types, in purer things than they. I will have hopes that cannot fade, For flowers the valley yields; I will have humble thoughts instead Of silent, dewy fields: My spirit and my God shall be My seaward hill, my boundless sea. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LETTING THE DOVES OUT by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER THE DOVE'S NECK by GERALD STERN THE DOVE IN SPRING by WALLACE STEVENS WHAT THE DOVE SINGS by CAROL FROST THE DOVE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |
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