There's a place called Far-away Meadow We never shall mow in again, Or such is the talk at the farmhouse: The meadow is finished with men. Then now is the chance for the flowers That can't stand mowers and plowers. It must be now, through, in season Before the not mowing brings trees on, Before trees, seeing the opening, March into a shadowy claim. The trees are all I'm afraid of, That flowers can't bloom in the shade of; It's no more men I'm afraid of; The meadow is done with the tame. The place for the moment is ours For you, oh tumultuous flowers, To go to waste and go wild in, All shapes and colors of flowers, I needn't call you by name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOTHER IN THE HOUSE by HERMANN HAGEDORN TO MY EXCELLENT LUCASIA, ON OUR FRIENDSHIP. 17TH JULY 1651 by KATHERINE PHILIPS IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 27 by ALFRED TENNYSON LOVES MONARCHIE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT FORT GRISWOLD, SEPT. 6, 1781 by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD CONSOLATION by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: TO THE QUEEN OF SERPENTS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON GLIMPSES OF CHILDHOOD: 3. THE DOLLS' HOSPITAL by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |