Thou leanest to the shell of night, Dear lady, a divining ear. In that soft choiring of delight What sound hath made thy heart to fear? Seemed it of rivers rushing forth From the grey deserts of the north? That mood of thine Is his, if thou but scan it well, Who a mad tale bequeaths to us At ghosting hour conjurable -- - And all for some strange name he read In Purchas or in Holinshed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PLAYING SOMEONE ELSE'S PIANO by KAREN SWENSON COMPANIONS; A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR by THOMAS HARDY THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |