When I can't bear to watch birds play I lie inside my thatched hut the cherry trees are bright pink the willows beginning to sway the rising sun swallows blue peaks clearing clouds wash a green pool who thinks of leaving the dusty rut and heading south for Cold Mountain | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KING OF SPAIN by MAXWELL BODENHEIM DE GUSTIBUS' by ROBERT BROWNING THE PHANTOM HORSEWOMAN by THOMAS HARDY HIS CAVALIER by ROBERT HERRICK ESTRANGEMENT by WILLIAM WATSON MOUNTAIN STORM by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS |