THE wind through the summer woods blows cool, So I walk with quiet pace, But I stop a little at the pool, And again I see your face. Just where the pale primroses peep Above the dimpling stream, I see as in some magic sleep A form to suit my dream. And bright, and warm, and sweet to view It grows distinct and fair, As if the waves were mirrors true And you were looking there: All just the same as you stood that day, When the wind was low and cool, With your feet on the wild-flowers where they lay, And your shadow in the pool. But I could not reach the one wild rose That in your hand was seen; For still as thought and act would close, The pool grew up between. Ah heart, ah heart, I turn away From the dreams of my idle brain, And sigh to think that this summer day Hath power to bring me pain; For how many things in my little life Have offer'd unto me Their fresh sweet hopes with blossoms rife As the spring-buds on a tree. But still as my hand would make display To gather what was seen, Like the silent pool by the forest way A gap grew up between. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: COMMON FORM by RUDYARD KIPLING TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY [IN HER MOTHER'S ARMS] by AMBROSE PHILIPS BEING RETIRED, COMPLAINS AGAINST THE COURT by PHILIP AYRES ON SEEING AN OFFICER'S WIDOW DISTRACTED - ARREARS OF PENSION by MARY BARBER SONG by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THE WIDOW TO HER HOUR-GLASS by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD GRAVE OF HOWARD by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES |