WITH blind eyes meeting the mist and moon And yet with blossoming trees robed round, With gashes black, nay, one great wound, Amazing still it stands its ground; Sad soul, here stay you. It held, one time, such happy hours, Its tables shone with smiles and filled The hungry -- Home! 'twas theirs, is ours, We house it here and laugh unkilled. Hoarse gun, now, pray you -- It knew the hand and voice of Sleep, Sleep was its friend and nightly came, And still the bony laths would keep One friendship, but poor Sleep's gone lame. O poisoner, Mahu! A hermit might have built a cell Among those evergreens, beside That mellow wall: they serve as well For four lean guns. Soft, hermits, hide, Lest pride display you. It hived the bird's call, the bee's hum, The sunbeams crossing the garden's shade -- So fond of summer! still they come, But steel-born bees, birds, beams invade. -- Could summer betray you? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MAN TO A WOMAN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS IL PLEUT DOUCEMENT SUR LA VILLE by PAUL VERLAINE THE OLD SERGEANT by BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON IF THE POETS HAD FEARED THE ADVERTISERS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNET: A PREACHER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |