A BIRD called—called— Then briefly hushed. Swift mounting the sky Morning flushed, And shadows, blanching, Westward rushed. Lovelier hue Was never seen— Not the sunny starling In gilded sheen, Nor gliding kingfisher's Gold and green; Nor the wild apple Paling as it shakes, Nor shining water That the image takes Of thorn and lilac And a new thicket makes. Nothing so sweet, Nothing so swift. Dies the flush in the east, And shadows drift Slowly round; And Morn's gray eyes lift To that frore height Now harsh and wan With Winter's breath, Where the Moon sleeps on In smiling dream of Dead Endymion. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S WAY by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA: THE CHARGE by ALFRED TENNYSON CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS THE BREAKING by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON |