THERE were years vague of measure Needless the asking when; No honours, praises, pleasure Reached common maids from men. And hence no lures bewitched them, No hand was stretched to raise, No gracious gifts enriched them, No voices sang their praise. Yet an iris at that season Amid the accustomed slight From denseness, dull unreason, Ringed me with living light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING IN WAR TIME by SARA TEASDALE THE BIRDS: THE HOOPOE'S CALL TO HIS WIFE PROCNE, THE NIGHTINGALE by ARISTOPHANES POLAND by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN MOLE CATCHER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 12 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH IN MEMORIAM: A.F (OB. OCT. 12, 1879) by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THREE WOMEN: G -- by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |