THERE the moon leans out and blesses All the dreamy hills below: Here the willows wash their tresses Where the water-lilies blow In the stream that glideth slow. High in heaven, in serried ranges, Cloud-wreaths float through pallid light, Like a flock of swans that changes In the middle Autumn night North for South in ordered flight. What know ye, who hover yonder, More than I, of that veiled good Whither all things tend, I wonder, That ye follow the wind's mood In such patient quietude? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWILIGHT COMES by HAYDEN CARRUTH KEEPING UP WITH THE SIGNS by MADELINE DEFREES THE CHANT OF THE VULTURES by EDWIN MARKHAM TO HELEN KELLER - HUMANITARIAN, SOCIAL DEMOCRAT, GREAT SOUL by EDWIN MARKHAM |