Whisper, whisper out of the west, Fold thy plumes o'er my birdling's nest, Come, O wind, whence the poppies blow, Come whence the lullaby fountains flow. Come, with kisses soft and sweet For tired little eyes and tired little feet. Whisper, whisper out of the south; Drop thy balm on the wee red mouth; Come, O wind, from the palm and pine, From the trailing moss and the tangled vine; Come, with touches soft and sweet On tired little eyes and tired little feet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WHEN I WROTE A LITTLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE, MY LITTLE ONE' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LITTLE SON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON REVIEW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |