THEY who may tell love's wistful tale, Of half its cares are lighten'd; Their bark is tacking to the gale, The sever'd cloud is brighten'd. Love, like the silent stream, is found Beneath the willows lurking, The deeper, that it hath no sound To tell its ceaseless working. Submit, my heart; thy lot is cast, I feel its inward token; I feel this misery will not last, Yet last till thou art broken. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIMON THE CYRENIAN SPEAKS by COUNTEE CULLEN THE SAD SONG, FR. THE CAPTAIN by JOHN FLETCHER THE OLD BUFFALO TRAIL by ISABEL ANDERSON COMFORT by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT ARS GUBERNANDI by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB DARTMOOR: SUNSET AT CHAGFORD: HOMO LOQVITUR by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |