She stops at the edge of a brook. She sings She runs She urges a long cry toward the heavens Her dress is open unto paradise She is thoroughly charming She stirs a cluster of branches above Slowly she passes her white hand across her brow Between her feet weasels scamper The blue sky crouches in her hat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: CONVOY ESCORT by RUDYARD KIPLING THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR SATIRE: 3. TO SIR FRANCIS BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT SONNET: HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THREE SONNETS WRITTEN IN MID-CHANNEL: 1 by ALFRED AUSTIN THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE ROAD TO APPENZELL by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL INACCESSIBILITY IN THE BATTLEFIELD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN CLIFF DWELLER LYRICS: A LITTLE NAP IN THE MORNING by BERTON BRALEY |