THE earth is bright, her forests all are golden; A cloud of flowers breathes blushing over her And, whispering from bud to blossom, opens The half-awakened memory of the song She heard in childhood from the mystic sun. There is some secret stirring in the world, A thought that seeks impatiently its word: A crown, or cross, for one is born to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RHYME FOR A CHILD VIEWING A NAKED VENUS IN A PAINTING by ROBERT BROWNING LITTLE JERRY, THE MILLER by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE SPIRIT OF THE SABBATH by ISIDORE G. ASCHER POSSESSED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE SECOND CANTO, OR FIRST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE |