A GRASSY field, the lambs, the nibbling sheep, A blackbird and a thorn, the April smile Of brooding peace, the gentle airs that wile The Channel of its moodiness, a steep That brinks the flood, a little gate to keep The sacred ground -- and then that old gray pile, A simple church wherein there is no guile Of ornament; and here the Hallams sleep. Blest mourner, in whose soul the grief grew song, Not now, methinks, awakes the slumbering pain, While Joy, with busy fingers, weaves the woof Of Spring. But when the Winter nights are long, Thy spirit comes with sobbing of the rain, And spreads itself, and moans upon the roof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MUSICAL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IN THE TWILIGHT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL TO THE LADY IN THE CHIMSETTE WITH BLACK BUTTONS by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE; UPON RSTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 8. MUHAIMIN by EDWIN ARNOLD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 16. VENUS INCARNATE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE VOLCANIC ISLAND by CLIFFORD BAX MICHAELMASSE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: BLUEBEARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |