I felt the chill of the meadow underfoot But the sun o'erhead; And snatches of verse and song of scenes like this I sung or said. I skirted the margin alders for miles and miles In a sweeping line; The day was the day by every flower that blooms, But I saw no sign. Yet further I went before the scythes should come, For the grass was high; Till I saw the path where the slender fox had come And gone panting by. Then at last and following that I found In the very hour When the color flushed to the petals, it must have been - The far-sought flower. There stood the purple spires, with no breath of air Or headlong bee To disturb their perfect poise the livelong day Neath the aldertree! I only knelt and, putting the boughs aside Looked, or at most Counted them all to the buds in the copper depth, Pale as a ghost. Then I arose and silent wandered home, And I for one Said that the fall might come and whirl of leaves, For summer was done. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GODWIN JAMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TROY PARK: 5. THE CAT by EDITH SITWELL OPEN, TIME by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY WHITE FIELDS by JAMES STEPHENS TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE by ALFRED TENNYSON TO THE AUTHOR OF TEUCHSA GRONDIE by LEVI BISHOP |