WHEN the walls were red That now are seen To be overspread With a mouldy green, A fresh fair head Would often lean From the sunny casement And scan the scene, While blithely spoke the wind to the little sycamore tree. But storms have raged Those walls about, And the head has aged That once looked out; And zest is suaged And trust grows doubt, And slow effacement Is rife throughout, While fiercely girds the wind at the long-limbed sycamore tree! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TARRY BUCCANEER by JOHN MASEFIELD THE SHOEMAKERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER VERIS ET FAVONI by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE RETURN OF THE DRUSES; A TRAGEDY by ROBERT BROWNING SONNET ON MOOR PARK - WRITTEN AT LEE PRIORY, AUGUST 10, 1826 by SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: MYSTERY by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |