Joy is like a moth -- It wavers -- quivers, -- 'Tis vague as silver froth On ancient rivers. Now floats a vagrant air With breezes blowing; Disdaining thought or care, Heeds not its going! Ah! freely let it rove A fairy winging, And for your treasure-trove Its wind-blown singing! Touch not its heart so warm E'en though it lingers, Lest cold you find its form In vandal fingers! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBERT GOULD SHAW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS by EUGENE FIELD SONNET: DANTE (1) by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI A WESTERN WASTE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE ON A ROYAL VISIT TO THE VAULTS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 11 by THOMAS CAMPION |