Lord, if that Cloud still grows and swells, To reach the Sun at last What a fine nipple she will have On the top of her white breast! And does this Blackbird, singing here, Up on my Sycamore bough, Make that his richest Summer's yarn, To last the season through; Or is he blind, to Cloud and Sun, And sings but from content Because his body feels no pain, And his mind has no complaint? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REALITY REQUIRES by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS by ROBERT BURNS THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18. THE CHARM by THOMAS CAMPION VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED MEMORIAL TABLET (GREAT WAR, 1918) by SIEGFRIED SASSOON NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 31 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE PEACE OF COLLEGE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE OLD AND NEW; THE CENTURY ASSOCIATION, 1847-1897 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |