And have we left the roses far behind? Are never any flowers and soft green leaves Waiting to gladden us,—no golden sheaves Bright underneath the sun-warmed August wind? What shall we in the fierce strange journey find Of rapture, as our struggling step achieves Height after height, while every height deceives,— Each seeming that fair mount for which we pined! Oh, far and fair the deep green valleys glow; The valleys that we left so long ago, Climbing we knew not whither with joined hands! But one white flower I carry with me thence,— Thine heart: more sweet than rosebud, more intense Than all the wild scents of the hot low lands. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SUMMER EVENING'S MEDITATION by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD AT THE SEASIDE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ICH DIEN by SUSIE MONTGOMERY BEST THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS by MATHILDE BLIND |