I. THE summer brook flows in the bed, The winter torrent tore asunder; The sky-lark's gentle wings are spread, Where walk the lightning and the thunder: And thus you'll find the sternest soul The greatest tenderness concealing, And minds, that seem to mock control, Are ordered by some fairy feeling. II. Then, maiden! start not from the hand That's hardened by the swaying sabre -- The pulse beneath may be as bland As evening after day of labour: And, maiden! start not from the brow That thought has knit, and passion darkened -- In twilight hours, 'neath forest bough, The tenderest tales are often hearkened. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC by JOHN DRYDEN COUNT THAT DAY LOST by MARY ANN EVANS BELLS FOR JOHN WHITESIDE'S DAUGHTER by JOHN CROWE RANSOM GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: CHRIST'S REPLY by EDWARD TAYLOR THE KNIGHTS: THE POET AND HIS RIVALS by ARISTOPHANES SOLILOQUIES OF A SMALL-TOWN TAXI-DRIVER: ON THE WRITING OF POETRY by EDGAR BARRATT PSALM 137 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 1. THE THIRD SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |