THEY go by three And the moon shivers; The tired waves flee, The hidden rivers Also flee. I take three strands; There is one for her, One for my hands, And one to stir For another's hands. I twine them thinner, The dead wool doubts; The outer is inner The core slips out. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALBERT SCHIRDING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ON MUSIC by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR HYMN OF PAN by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED: by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 2: 25. THE VIRGIN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |