The yellow violets know it up the rills; And colonies of blood-roots in the groves Of beeches know it; and the poplar moves Wise orange tassels; to their crimson tips The sugar-maples know; and speckled lips Of bull-frogs, too, gurgling from hour to hour A chain of sound more silver than a flower. I know it last, being man; but tiger-heat Now leaps the rivers from my head to feet, And standing in a rhododendron jungle I feel the nerves of lip and finger tingle. A white mist follows, mixing foam and fire, And though desirous, I have no desire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMMELINE GRANGERFORD'S 'ODE TO STEPHEN DOLWING BOTS, DEC'D' by SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY SONNET: 2. FEBRUARY AFTERNOON by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS GOD SAVE THE NATION! by THEODORE TILTON THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 3. THE GRAVE BY THE LAKE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER YARROW REVISITED by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH INVITATION by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |