Through rifts of cloud the moon's soft silver slips, A little rain has fallen with the night, Which from the emerald under-sky still drips When the magnolias open broad and white. So near my windows I might reach my hand And touch these milky stars that, to and fro, Wave odorous. ... Yet 'twas in another land— How long ago, my love, how long ago! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF MEZERAY'S HISTORY OF FRANCE by MATTHEW PRIOR THE GHOST by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM AUTUMN LEAVES by PEARL B. BLOSS TO AN EVOLUTIONIST by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ANNA AND HENRY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |