How many times the flow'rs have blown And died again, from spring to fall, Since shapes of early friends were shown As fair as they among them all. Or since, below the summer light, On banks by daisyheads bespread, Or fields by yarrow dappled white, Their shadows mark'd their comely head. Or fell at evening on the wall, Beside the door; or glided cool, By moonpaled timber-stems, to fall On glitt'ring dew, or shining pool. O sun and moon, that love to mark All earthborn shapes, or quick, or still, The wayfarer, the gliding bark, The highbough'd tree, or lofty hill; In your sweet light, so pale or red, But sad to me, you seem to miss The shape of some all-comely head You copied in our day of bliss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEXTER GORDON: COPENHAGEN/AVERY FISHER HALL by KAREN SWENSON DAUGHTERS OF JEPHTHA by LOUIS UNTERMEYER PAST AND PRESENT by THOMAS HOOD TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE by BEN JONSON A LETTER by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY THE IVORY GATE; AN UNFINISHED DRAFT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |