LAST April, when the winds had lost their chill, I lay down dreamily upon the verge Of Shakespeare's Cliff, where sea and seawind scourge The eternal barrier that withstands them still. I heard the billows break beneath and fill The wide air with the thunder of the surge; And near my cheek, half fearful to emerge, A violet grew upon the grassy hill. There while I lay, Poet, I dreamed of thee. Thy very voice, whose matchless music yet O'ermasters all the world's, surrounded me, Singing, and in the sound of it there met With all the might and passion of the sea The utter sweetness of the violet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE by JAMES GALVIN AFTER WRITING A POEM by DAVID IGNATOW DESTINY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BETRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MILITARY PROGRESS by MARIANNE MOORE A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE |