THE thrush sings meditative high in the bare oak-boughs—while the still April morning just drops with faint rain, and the honeysuckle climbs snakelike with green wings among the underwood; The voice of the ploughman sounds across the valley, and the cackle of the farmyard mingles with the rumble of a distant train on its way to the great city: Where, in her boudoir, by the light of the dying fire—the shutters yet closed and the candles guttered and gone out—she lies, the Paris beauty, naked on her low tiger-skin couch; And he, her lover, naked too, on the floor beside her has slipped—his head bent forward, and asleep—with her hand in his dark short hair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES FOR THE HOUR by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 16. CUPID HIMSELF STUNG by PHILIP AYRES DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IVAN IVANOVITCH by ROBERT BROWNING CH'IN CHIA'S WIFE'S REPLY by MRS. CH'IN CHIA THE OUTLAW by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |