A light and joyous figure, one that seems As if the air were her own element; Begirt with cheerful thoughts, and bringing back Old days, when nymphs upon Arcadian plains Made musical the wind, and in the sun Flashed their bright cymbals and their whitest hands. These were the days of poetry -- the woods Were haunted with sweet shadows; and the caves, Odorous with moss, and it with shining spars, Were homes where Naiads met some graceful youth Beneath the moonlit heaven -- all this is past; Ours is a darker and a sadder age; Heaven help us through it! -- 'tis a weary world The dust and ashes of a happier time. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 4 by CONRAD AIKEN TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON A YOUNG LADY'S SIXTH ANNIVERSARY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELIZABETH CHILDERS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |