THOU art the soul of a summer's day, Thou art the breath of the rose. But the summer is fled And the rose is dead Where are they gone, who knows, who knows? Thou art the blood of my heart o' hearts, Thou art my soul's repose, But my heart grows numb And my soul is dumb Where art thou, love, who knows, who knows? Thou art the hope of my after years -- Sun for my winter snows But the years go by 'Neath a clouded sky. Where shall we meet, who knows, who knows? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT LORD'S [CRICKET GROUND] by FRANCIS THOMPSON IT WAS DEEP APRIL by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY ON MY DEAR GRANDCHILD SIMON WHO DIED ... ONE MONTH AND ONE DAY OLD by ANNE BRADSTREET THE RETURN OF THE DRUSES; A TRAGEDY by ROBERT BROWNING ON CHLORIS BEING ILL by ROBERT BURNS ON THE NATURALIZATION BILL by JOHN BYROM AN ELEGY UPON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF PRINCE HENRY by THOMAS CAMPION CRUX VIA CAELORUM: 3 by PATRICK CAREY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE WANDERING PSYCHE by EDWARD CARPENTER |