Lo, as the thrushes' throats Throb with their golden notes The river's silver dress Shakes in the wind's caress. The gently cooing dove (Dost thou not hear, my love?) Is stirred to ecstasy, Being so close to thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOING FOR WATER by ROBERT FROST ACHIEVEMENT by MORRIS ABEL BEER IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: HONOUR DISHONOURED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE INCUNABULUM'S TALE by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB THE EMBROIDERESS AT MIDNIGHT by MARY ANN BROWNE |