With the first blush of morning, my soul is awing, Away o'er the phantom lands free, wandering, I seek thee in hamlet, in woodland, and hall, Till night-shades, enfolding my tired heart, fall. Yet ever and alway, like the thrush in a tree, My heart lifts its preluding love-song to thee; I call through the days, through the long weary years, And slumber at night-fall, refreshed by my tears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ECHO FROM WILLOW-WOOD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI INVOCATION TO SLEEP by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THREE THINGS by CHRISTOPHER BANNISTER AN EVENING PROSPECT by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER SHAKERLY MARMION, UPON CUPID AND PSYCHE by RICHARD BROME ROMANCE by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT CORA LINN, OR THE FALLS OF CLYDE by THOMAS CAMPBELL |