What voice is this, thou evening gale! That mingles with thy rising wail; And as it passes sadly seems The faint return of youthful dreams? Though now its strain is wild and drear, Blythe was it once, as skylark's cheer -- Sweet as the night-bird's sweetest song -- Dear as the lisp of infant's tongue. It was the voice at whose sweet flow The heart did beat and cheek did glow, And lip did smile, and eye did weep, And motion'd love the measure keep. Oft be thy sound, soft gale of even, Thus to my wistful fancy given; And as I list the swelling strain, The dead shall seem to live again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE QUAKER GRAVEYARD by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL SONNET DEDICATORY by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER HARMONIE DU SOIR by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE DEDICATION TO POEMS, LYRICS AND SONNETS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |