WE stood by the idle weir, Like bells the waters played, In moonlight sleeping through the shire, As it would never fade: So slept our shining peace of mind Till rose a south-west wind. How sorrow comes who knows? And here joy surely had been: But joy like any wild wind blows From mountains none has seen, And still its cloudy veilings throws On the bright road it goes. The black-plumed poplars swung Softly across the sky; The ivy sighed, the river sung, Woolpacks were wafting high. The moon her golden tinges flung On these she straight was lost among. O south-west wind of the soul, That brought such new delight, And passing by in music stole Love's rich and trusting light, Would that we thrilled to thy least breath, Now all is still as death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN NET by WILLIAM BLAKE NICHOLAS NYE by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE BLUEBIRD by EMILY DICKINSON VIRTUE [OR, VERTUE] by GEORGE HERBERT THE BENCH OF BOORS by HERMAN MELVILLE EPITAPH INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALEXANDER POPE |