This path lads to the laurel, And that, winds to the burn: Hemlocks, pines, and birches, Know the one that I turn. It is wet in the woods to-day,— And perhaps, the sun to-morrow, Shall weave its gold, while away I will be alone with sorrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON THE MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM DYER by KATHERINE DYER ROME. AT THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS NEAR THE GRAVES OF SHELLEY by THOMAS HARDY STORY OF THE GATE by HARRISON ROBERTSON THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 97. A SUPERSCRIPTION by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AT BETHLEHEM: 3. TO HIS MOTHER by JOHN BANISTER TABB NOREMBEGA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER VERSES ADDRESSED TO IMITATOR OF FIRST SATIRE OF HORACE by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU |