FORGOTTEN streams, yet wishful to be known, With humble moan In rushy channels working, called us on; These might have with as good result Remained occult And gray and dumb; For where they curled and called we could not come. Some tottering hut they called the Moated Grange Bade our steps range And cramped routine for rural loves exchange; That thatched spectre might as well With some fierce shell Have sunk to earth; A jealous god declined our going forth. And that delightful maybush, that above The dead mill-drove With rose-lipped courtesy and whispering love Enchanted, was not ours to touch. Between, this grutch, This staring curse Made a blind wall, and kept our lips averse. The simple road proposed most kind desires For further spires, Hearths, garden-grots, dove-cots; but fang-fixed wires And ambushed airy murder lay All day, that way; A simple road, -- The rampart where the sleepless phantom strode. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: FOX TROT by EDITH SITWELL THE DINKEY-BIRD by EUGENE FIELD THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL' by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH by HERMAN MELVILLE AMONG THE REDWOODS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL LEE TO THE REAR [MAY 12, 1864] by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON CHORUS OF THE CLOUD-MAIDEN: ANTISTROPHE, FR. THE CLOUDS by ARISTOPHANES |