All day long I have been working, Now I am tired I call: "Where are you?" But there is only the oak-tree rustling in the wind. The house is very quiet, The sun shines in on your books, On your scissors and thimble just put down, But you are not there. Suddenly I am lonely: Where are you? I go about searching. Then I see you, Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur, With a basket of roses on your arm. You are cool, like silver, And you smile. I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes. You tell me that the peonies need spraying, That the columbines have overrun all bounds, That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded. You tell me all these things. But I look at you, heart of silver, White heart-flame of polished silver, Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur, And I long to kneel instantly at your feet, While all about us peal the loud, sweet, Te Deums of the Canterbury bells. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PROGRESS OF POETRY; A VARIATION by MATTHEW ARNOLD A BORDER AFFAIR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. SONNET, WRITTEN IN JANUARY 1817 by JOHN KEATS SHE CAME AND WENT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL STRANGE MEETINGS: 1 by HAROLD MONRO A PRAYER, LIVING AND DYING by AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY |