What a royal pomp our meadows have assumed Since Spring, the beggar maid, passed with bare feet, And in her hand a chill white crocus bloomed That made the tears to start -- it was so sweet. Alas, that she has gone! There follows now More splendor and less pathos: I could give Half summer's wealth that cumbers every bough, And all of autumn's promise, to revive, But for a moment, the unbroken trance Of those dark, sacred, inexperienced eyes That flashed and vanished. For Spring's earliest glance Awakes innumerable memories, And many a thought that men can never know Save in the cavern of Life's afterglow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADELAIDE CRAPSEY by CARL SANDBURG THE HIPPOPOTAMUS by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT BILLY IN THE DARBIES, FR. BILLY BUDD by HERMAN MELVILLE A NAMELESS EPITAPH (2) by MATTHEW ARNOLD ALL THIS by REBA MAXWELL AVERY A BERKSHIRE HOLIDAY by CLIFFORD BAX A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |