Think me not unkind and rude That I walk alone in grove and glen; I go to the god of the wood To fetch his word to men. Tax not my sloth that I Fold my arms beside the brook; Each cloud that floated in the sky Writes a letter in my book. Chide me not, laborious band, For the idle flowers I brought; Every aster in my hand Goes home loaded with a thought. There was never mystery But 'tis figured in the flowers; Was never secret history But birds tell it in the bowers. One harvest from thy field Homeward brought the oxen strong; A second crop thine acres yield, Which I gather in a song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHAT MY LOVER SAID by HOMER GREENE BROTHERS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE MASTER by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON SONNET: 104 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ENVOY: 2. TO MY MOTHER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON OF BEAUTY by EVA K. ANGLESBURG THE STORY OF FIORDISPINA, FR. ORLANDO FURIOSO by LUDOVICO (LODOVICO) ARIOSTO |