GROANED the mill-wheel below, @3Labour, labour is sore, Sore evermore.@1 White foam smiled answer and spread @3Ever@1—@3never@1—@3for ever@1—and fled. The alder's thin leaves, olive and sere, Rustled, @3Autumn is near, With cold fingering winds and hoar-sprinkled locks Strewing my leaves on foam-washed rocks.@1 The white clouds made answer and shed Shadows that hare-like fled, And the lapwing flying Another shadow shook down, crying @3Never, never, O never.@1 Where was your voice in these Voices of mock and unease? Cried you that Autumn was near, Already her cold shadow here? Never the lapwing's your note, Desolate, sad throat! Was it yours, the fleet shadow's mock, And foam on leaf-strewn rock? Yours was in none of these Voices of mock and unease. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...METRICAL FEET by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE ON THE RUINS OF A COUNTRY INN by PHILIP FRENEAU MENAPHON: SEPHESTIA'S [CRADLE] SONG TO HER CHILD by ROBERT GREENE THE BAYADERE by FRANCIS SALTUS SALTUS ANDROMEDA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 8. THEE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |