O purple-black are the wet quince boughs, Where the buds begin to burn! And fair enough is Spring's new house, Made fresh for Love's return. She has taken him in and locked the door, And thrown away the key. When Free-foot finds his Rove-no-more, What use is liberty? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMNS OF THE MARSHES: MARSH SONG - AT SUNSET by SIDNEY LANIER GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE BROKEN WATER WHEEL by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM SONNET: 'EVEN THIS WILL PASS AWAY' by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 11. AL-MUTAKABBIR by EDWIN ARNOLD PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 80, 81. GHAFOOR, MUNTAKIM by EDWIN ARNOLD EUMARES by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS SCARECROW by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 36 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |