OUT from the meadow, bathed in bright— Bob—Bob—White! An answer, back from the cool copse-height— Bob—White! The humdrum beetle drones his horn, The cradling breezes lull the corn, But still that truant call goes on— Bob—Bob—White! And back with keen Xantippe scorn— Bob—White! Out from the meadow's ling'ring light— Bob—Bob—White! An echo, back from the dark hill's height— Bob—White! The drowsy night-lids droop adown, With ribbon'd rays her ringlets bound— And still there echoeth 'round and 'round— Bob—Bob—White! And still from the hill that haughty sound— Bob—White! Faintly now from the copse-hill's height— Bob—Bob—White! And fainter yet, 'mid the soft twilight— Bob—White! Was that the chirruping sound of a kiss, The star-beam's dream of a wedded bliss, Or the faintest kind of a call like this— Thy—Bob—White! And the softest kind of an answer—'tis: Quite right! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORLD AS WILL AND REPRESENTATION' by HAYDEN CARRUTH FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST AGAINST THE REST OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN GOSSAMER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD BRUTUS AND ANTONY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. CHARLES BLISS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |