I THE morning sun seemed fair as though It were a great red rose ablow In lavish bloom, With all the air for its perfume, -- Yet he who had been wont to sing, Could trill no thing. II Supine, at noon, as he looked up Into the vast inverted cup Of heavenly gold, Brimmed with its marvels manifold, And his eye kindled, and his cheek -- Song could not speak. III Night fell forebodingly; he knew Soon must the rain be falling, too, -- And, home, heartsore, A missive met him at the door -- -- Then Song lit on his lips, and he Sang gloriously. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOURNEY by ANNE MILLAY BREMER SINGING HANDS by CAREY YATES BUSBY QUATRAIN ON ACHILLES by CATHERINE DES ROCHES AN ARCTIC EPITAPH by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON EPILOGUE ON OCCASION OF REPRESENTATION FOR DRYDEN'S BENEFIT by JOHN DRYDEN |