I AM the child of the brightest thing Which may gladden mortal eyes, Yet the silent sweep of my dusty wing Over my mother may dimness fling, And smiling she faints and dies. I move, I dance, I fall, I fly, Yet anon I may calmly sleep; I mark the bright-winged hours flit by, Your ingenuity perhaps I try; I am long, or short, or deep. I have been hailed as a boon untold, Or dreaded and shunned ere now; The earth in my wide embrace I fold, The mountain regions are my stronghold, Yet I steadily follow the plough. I may rest a while in the minster pile, Or beneath the old oak tree; Often with trackless step I pass O'er the whispering corn and the waving grass, Or tread the changeful sea. All the day through I follow you, Yet beware how you follow me; For each child of man I may oft beguile, And cloud the light of his sunniest smile, Till for ever away I flee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 6 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON BUDMOUTH DEARS by THOMAS HARDY TO AN INSECT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA by MIRABEAU BONAPARTE LAMAR THE BLUEBELLS OF NEW ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE QUEEN IN FRANCE; AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |