TALL, sombre, grim, against the morning sky They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs, Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully, As if from realms of mystical despairs. Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams Brightening to gold within the woodland's core, Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams, -- But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable, Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell Rests the mute rapture of deep hearted peace. Last, sunset comes -- the solemn joy and might Borne from the west when cloudless day declines -- Low, flute-like breezes sweep the waves of light, And, lifting dark green tresses of the pines, Till every lock is luminous, gently float, Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar, To faint when twilight on her virginal throat Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NO COMING TO GOD WITHOUT CHRIST by ROBERT HERRICK TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IKE WALTON'S PRAYER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ANOTHER SPRING by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 20 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SONNET by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SPLENDID ISOLATION; A MORAL FROM LEXINTON, 1775 by KATHARINE LEE BATES |