From dewy dreams, my soul, arise, From love's deep slumber and from death, For lo! the trees are full of sighs Whose leaves the morn admonisheth. Eastward the gradual dawn prevails Where softly-burning fires appear, Making to tremble all those veils Of grey and golden gossamer. While sweetly, gently, secretly, The flowery bells of morn are stirred And the wise choirs of faery Begin (innumerous!) to be heard. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY by JOHN DRYDEN FOR G. by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 14. OVER THE COFFIN by THOMAS HARDY BURY HIM DEEP by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HIS ALLY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET MID-OCEAN by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |