Emerald, the rim of the sea; Purple sentinels, the hills; The breeze half-dead or dying: It is a song without singing. The sun, the sweeper of the sky, Washes it with the white of day; For the moon, later, to paint Her portrait of light and shade. No sun-washed heaven that tells not of the moon; No moon that doth not limn Her frail, faery dream On the sea's fluctuating rim. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW A BIT OF SKY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LA RONDE DU DIABLE by AMY LOWELL TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 1 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH |