Roving, roving, as it seems, Una lights my clouded dreams; Still for journeys she is dressed; We wander far by east and west. In the homestead, homely thought; At my work I ramble not; If from home chance draw me wide, Half-seen Una sits beside. In my house and garden-plot, Though beloved, I miss her not; But one I seek in foreign places, One face explore in foreign faces. At home a deeper thought may light The inward sky with chrysolite, And I greet from far the ray, Aurora of a dearer day. But if upon the seas I sail, Or trundle on the glowing rail, I am but a thought of hers, Loveliest of travellers. So the gentle poet's name To foreign parts is blown by fame; Seek him in his native town, He is hidden and unknown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD COWPUNCHER SPEAKS by BERTON BRALEY BURNS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE MEISTERSINGER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DON JUAN: CANTO 4 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW by GEORGE GORDON BYRON MAZEPPA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 14. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE TENTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION TO CHLOE, WHO WISHED HERSELF YOUNG ENOUGH FOR ME by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT |