YOUR bow swept over a string, and a long low note quivered to the air. (A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect learning to suck milk.) Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering and wild. (All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon in the hills with their lovers.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 4 by CONRAD AIKEN MY FAMILIAR DREAM by PAUL VERLAINE THE BOROUGH: LETTER 22. POOR OF THE BOROUGH. PETER GRIMES by GEORGE CRABBE DURING WIND AND RAIN by THOMAS HARDY SONNET: 9 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY BANTAMS IN PINE-WOODS by WALLACE STEVENS |