THE swallows flew in the curves of an eight Above the river-gleam In the wet June's last beam: Like little crossbows animate The swallows flew in the curves of an eight Above the river-gleam. Planing up shavings of crystal spray A moor-hen darted out From the bank thereabout, And through the stream-shine ripped his way; Planing up shavings of crystal spray A moor-hen darted out. Closed were the kingcups; and the mead Dripped in monotonous green, Though the day's morning sheen Had shown it golden and honeybee'd; Closed were the kingcups; and the mead Dripped in monotonous green. And never I turned my head, alack, While these things met my gaze Through the pane's drop-drenched glaze, To see the more behind my back.... O never I turned, but let, alack, These less things hold my gaze! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW TO BE A POET (TO REMIND MYSELF) by WENDELL BERRY THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 5. THE DANCING GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU DOMESDAY BOOK: GREGORY WENNER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN 'DESIGNING A CLOAK TO CLOAK HIS DESIGNS' YOU WRESTED FROM OBLIVION by MARIANNE MOORE |