TOO soothe and mild your lowland airs For one whose hope is gone: I'm thinking of a little tarn, Brown, very lone. Would now the tall swift mists could lay Their wet grasp on my hair, And the great natures of the hills Round me friendly were. In vain! -- For taking hills your plains Have spoilt my soul, I think, But would my feet were going down Towards the brown tarn's brink. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OF CONTEMPORARY WRITERS: 2 by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE A DOUBTFUL CHOICE by EDWARD DE VERE FONTENOY, 1745: 1. BEFORE THE BATTLE: NIGHT by EMILY LAWLESS THE CHILD ALONE: 7. THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 3. THE WANDERING ONE by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS WITH MY FANCY by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT |