The cat she walks on padded claws, The wolf on the hills lays stealthy paws, Feathered birds in the rain-sweet sky At their ease in the air, flit low, flit high. The oak's blind, tender roots pierce deep, His green crest towers, dimmed in sleep, Under the stars whose thrones are set Where never prince hath journeyed yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL EUROPE A PROPHECY by WILLIAM BLAKE HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE WHERE THE PICNIC WAS by THOMAS HARDY WITH AN ALBUM by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR MARSYAS by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS |