THE larks are loud above our leagues of whin Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold With odor like the color: all the wold Is only light and song and wind wherein These twain are blent in one with shining din. And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled, Dear old fast friend whose honors grow not old, Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin. Though all but we from life be now gone forth Of that bright household in our joyous north Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end, First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome, Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend, Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THOMAS MOORE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE PASSIONS: AN ODE FOR MUSIC by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) THE LOST JEWEL by EMILY DICKINSON THE EXEQUY [ON HIS WIFE] by HENRY KING (1592-1669) MY MISTRESS'S BOOTS by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE SECOND DAY: LADY WENTWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |