HIGH above hate I dwell: O storms! farewell. Though at my sill your daggered thunders play, Lawless and loud to-morrow as to-day, To me they sound more small Than a young fay's footfall: Soft and far-sunken, forty fathoms low In Long Ago, And winnowed into silence on that wind Which takes wars like a dust, and leaves but love behind. Hither Felicity Doth climb to me, And bank me in with turf and marjoram Such as bees lip, or the new-weaned lamb; With golden barberry-wreath, And bluets thick beneath; One grosbeak, too, mid apple-buds a guest With bud-red breast, Is singing, singing! All the hells that rage Float less than April fog below our hermitage. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEWEY IN MANILA BAY [MAY 1, 1898] by RICHARD VORHEES RISLEY SOLITUDE by ELLA WHEELER WILCOX A LOVE SONNET by GEORGE WITHER OF HIS CONVERSION by WILLIAM ALABASTER UNION SONG by ERNST MORITZ ARNDT A SONNET. THE ROSE AND LILY by PHILIP AYRES |