A SATURATED meadow, Sun-shaped and jewel-small, A circle scarcely wider Than the trees around were tall; Where winds were quite excluded, And the air was stifling sweet With the breath of many flowers,-- A temple of the heat. There we bowed us in the burning, As the sun's right worship is, To pick where none could miss them A thousand orchises; For though the grass was scattered, Yet every second spear Seemed tipped with wings of color, That tinged the atmosphere. We raised a simple prayer Before we left the spot, That in the general mowing That place might be forgot; Or if not all so favoured, Obtain such grace of hours, That none should mow the grass there While so confused with flowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOMEBODY'S DARLING by MARIE LA CONTE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 39 by PHILIP SIDNEY WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS IN MEMORY: MISS JEWETT by GRACE ALLERTON ANDREWS DEFIANT OF DEATH by EVA K. ANGLESBURG |