Where are you sleeping, springtime of the world? Under the blue of what mournful sky Do you keep your pallid round As untold stars whirl by? One twilight dream, when weariness My soul had overcast, Under an amethystine moon Was it you that passed? Turning in chorus of air-drawn sprites Where a copse raised slender bar, Upon the sward of your linkèd hands There danced the shepherd-star. The brook that beside you purls a limpid song That we can but divine, Soothes the stones of the crumbling vault Of a sunken shrine. Long cypress rows, as in Italian gardens, Distantly converge; In the pouring melancholy All my senses merge. But since, one hour, I gently dreamed Where timeless fragrance wings, I feel that deep within me stirs The breath of those primal springs, And—you mellow troop of sunny hours, Dear springtimes of my own— I blend you with all the dreams of the world, Springs I have never known. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FUTURE LIFE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT BOUND NO'TH BLUES by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES NOBODY KNOWS BUT MOTHER by MARY MORRISON FOUND' (FOR A PICTURE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TO A WESTERN BOY by WALT WHITMAN CASSANDRA by RICHARD BARNFIELD |