The bindweed roots pierce down Deeper than men do lie, Laid in their dark-shut graves Their slumbering kinsmen by. Yet what frail thin-spun flowers She casts into the air, To breathe the sunshine, and To leave her fragrance there. But when the sweet moon comes, Showering her silver down, Half-wreathed in faint sleep, They droop where they have blown. So all the grass is set, Beneath her trembling ray, With buds that have been flowers, Brimmed with reflected day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUSE'S PETITION TO DOCTOR PRIESTLY FOUND IN THE TRAP .. by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD OF THE THEME OF LOVE by MARGARET LUCAS CAVENDISH PIED BEAUTY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS SEADRIFT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A SALON SCENE by ANTON ALEXANDER VON AUERSPERG |