Where white clouds form high rugged crags and green water rolling dark waves I hear a fisherman singing over and over the song of his oars verse after verse I try not to listen it stirs up too much sorrow who says sparrows don't have horns how else could they pierce my walls | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TENTH MUSE: THE VANITY OF ALL WORLDLY THINGS by ANNE BRADSTREET LAUTERBRUNNEN by THOMAS GOLD APPLETON THE HAYMAKER'S SONG by ALFRED AUSTIN AT SENLIS ONCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE DEMON DAWN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE A CHILD'S GRACE AT FLORENCE; A.A.E.C. by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MARTIN RELPH by ROBERT BROWNING |