THE rim of the moon Is over the corn. The beetle's drone Is above the thorn. Grey days come soon And I am alone; Can you hear my moan Where you rest, Aroon? When the wild tree bore The deep blue cherry, In night's deep hall Our love kissed merry. But you come no more Where its woodlands call, And the grey days fall On my grief, Astore! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HILL-SIDE TREE by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE by JOSEPH BRENAN AT CASTLE BOTEREL by THOMAS HARDY SUMMER MATURES by HELENE JOHNSON OVERTONES by WILLIAM ALEXANDER PERCY A CHARACTER by ALFRED TENNYSON |