MORN hath a secret that she never tells: 'Tis on her lips and in her maiden eyes -- I think it is the way to Paradise, Or of the Fount of Youth the crystal wells. The bee hath no such honey in her cells Sweet as the balm that in her bosom lies, As in her garden of the budding skies She walks among the silver asphodels. He that is loveless and of heart forlorn, Let him but leave behind his haunted bed, And set his feet toward yonder singing star, Shall have for sweetheart this same secret morn; She shall come running to him from afar, And on her cool breast lay his lonely head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON PARTING by GEORGE GORDON BYRON 23RD STREET RUNS INTO HEAVEN by KENNETH PATCHEN IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 47 by ALFRED TENNYSON ON A VOLUME OF ANONYNOUS POEMS ENTITLED A MASQUE OF POETS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WHEN THE FOLKS COME ALONG by FREDERICK L. ALLEN WITH MY FANCY by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT T.T. IN COMMENDATION OF THE AUTHOR HIS WORKE by RICHARD BARNFIELD FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DAY OF SURPASSING BEAUTY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |