The morning wears a misty crown Of gold, hung in the sky. In a golden pond black rushes drown, Tall catkins throw grey shadows down Across my boat, in a shielding frown, Where wait my dog and I. A thrilling cry, though nothing seen, This is the hunter's fun. Where blue and gold maze into green, In a true straight V shape come fifteen Grey travelers, and their call rings keen. I do not lift my gun. I sit and watch them wing away Into some other land. A tapestry of gold and grey Thrown 'cross the sky at break of day, In mem'ry woven, e'er to stay, By God's own dext'rous hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST AGING TOGETHER by CLARENCE MAJOR SAINT PATRICK by EDWIN MARKHAM IN THE GARDEN AT THE DAWN HOUR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CHARGE OF THE BREAD BRIGADE by EZRA POUND THE BOTTLES AND THE WINE by GEORGE SANTAYANA AN AMERICAN IN BANGKOK by KAREN SWENSON |