This place was formed divine for love and us to dwell; This house of brown stone built for us to sleep therein; Those blossoms haunt the rocks that we should see and smell; Those old rocks break the hill that we the heights should win. Those heights survey the sea that there our thoughts should sail Up the steep wall of wave to touch the Syrian sky: For us that sky at eve fades out of purple pale, Pale as the mountain mists beneath our house that lie. In front of our small house are brown stone arches three; Behind it, the low porch where all the jasmine grows; Beyond it, red and green, the gay pomegranate tree; Around it, like love's arms, the summer and the rose. Within it sat and wrote in minutes soft and few This worst and best of songs, one who loves it, and you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO JOHN DONNE (2) by BEN JONSON PASSING AWAY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE LEPER by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE PALM-TREE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SOLUTION OF THE CHARADE IN THE MUSEUM FOR OCTOBER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |