Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane, Before a mud-splashed window long I pause To gaze and gaze, while through my active brain Still thoughts are stirred to wakefulness; because Long, long ago in a dim unknown land, A massive forest-tree, ax-felled, adze-hewn, Was deftly done by cunning mortal hand Into a symbol of the tender moon. Why does it thrill more than the handsome boat That bore me o'er the wild Atlantic ways, And fill me with rare sense of things remote From this harsh life of fretful nights and days? I cannot answer but, whate'er it be, An old wine has intoxicated me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CLEVER WOMAN by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE LYSISTRATA: HOW THE WOMEN WILL STOP WAR by ARISTOPHANES LOVE AND TIME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD STANZAS ADDRESSED TO SOME FRIEND GOING TO THE SEA-SIDE by BERNARD BARTON PSALM 47 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |