The spattering of the rain upon pale terraces Of afternoon is like the passing of a dream Amid the roses shuddering 'gainst the wet green stalks Of the streaming trees -- the passing of the wind Upon the pale lower terraces of my dream Is like the crinkling of the wet grey robes Of the hours that come to turn over the urn Of the day and spill its rainy dream. Vague movement over the puddled terraces: Heavy gold pennons -- a pomp of solemn gardens Half hidden under the liquid veil of spring: Far trumpets like a vague rout of faded roses Burst 'gainst the wet green silence of distant forests: A clash of cymbals -- then the swift swaying footsteps Of the wind that undulates along the languid terraces. Pools of rain -- the vacant terraces Wet, chill and glistening Towards the sunset beyond the broken doors of to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOMETIMES by THOMAS SAMUEL JONES JR. FOR 'THE WINE OF CIRCE' (BY EDWARD BURNE JONES) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ARCADIA: THE BARGAIN by PHILIP SIDNEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: APRIL by EDMUND SPENSER THE LAND OF NOD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR |