Sweet breeze that sett'st the summer buds a swaying, Dear lambs amid the primrose meadows playing, Let me not think! O floods, upon whose brink The merry birds are maying, Dream, softly dream! O blessed mother, lead me Unsevered from thy girdle -- lead me! feed me! I have no will but thine; I need not but the juice Of elemental wine -- Perish remoter use Of strength reserved for conflict yet to come! Let me be dumb, As long as I may feel thy hand -- This, this is all -- do ye not understand How the great Mother mixes all our bloods? O breeze! O swaying buds! O lambs, O primroses, O floods! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MILTON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE SIFTING OF PETER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE PAST IS THE PRESENT by MARIANNE MOORE THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES DELAY by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |