THE air is dark and sweet This wet Spring night— Spring, of the wandering feet, The secret flight, Calls thro' the slow, soft rain— O voice of gold! Calls to me once again, As oft of old. The darkness sighs and stirs, Blind, blind and slow; Night-wandering loiterers, The veiled airs go; Mutes of the viewless spell, The hidden power, These—but my heart knows well Its magic hour. ... My heart's one festival, Oh, far or near, The Spring could never call And I not hear: Deep under graveyard grass, It could not be, The Spring could never pass And I not see. ... My heart, my heart would break Could it be so— To think that Spring should wake And I not know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAVE PAINTING by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE MOUNTAIN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW DESTINY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR |