WHENCE came his feet into my field, and why? How is it that he sees it all so drear? How do I see his seeing, and how hear The name his bitter silence knows it by? This was the little fold of separate sky Whose pasturing clouds in the soul's atmosphere Drew living light from one continual year: How should he find it lifeless? He, or I? Lo? this new Self now wanders round my field, With plaints for every flower, and for each tree A moan, the sighing wind's auxiliary: And o'er sweet waters of my life, that yield Unto his lips no draught but tears unseal'd, Even in my place he weeps. Even I, not he. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SPANISH FRIAR: 1-3. LOVE'S DESPAIR by JOHN DRYDEN THE LADY OF SHALOTT by ALFRED TENNYSON THE KING'S HAND by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II A WINTER PIECE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PIONEER WOMAN by EVA K. ANGLESBURG RELEASE by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD LET US REASON TOGETHER by LEVI BISHOP BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |