Leans now the fair willow, dreaming Amid her locks of green. In the driving snow she was parched and cold, And in midnight hath been Swept by blasts of the void night, Lashed by the rains. Now of that wintry dark and bleak No memory remains. In mute desire she sways softly; Thrilling sap up-flows; She praises God in her beauty and grace, Whispers delight. And there flows A delicate wind from the Southern seas, Kissing her leaves. She sighs. While the birds in her tresses make merry; Burns the Sun in the skies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO AT A FIRESIDE by EDWIN MARKHAM BYRON by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER TO A DOG by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY IDYLLS OF THE KING: BALIN AND BALAN by ALFRED TENNYSON EYE-WITNESS by FREDERICK RIDGELY TORRENCE THE NUANCES OF MENDACITY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |