She hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge, And all her flowers are snowdrops grown on the winter's edge: The golden looms of Tir na n' Og wove all the winter through Her gown of mist and raindrops, shot with a cloudy blue. Sunlight she holds in one hand, and rain she scatters after, And through the rainy twilight we hear her fitful laughter; She shakes down on her flowers the snows less white than they, Then quickens with her kisses the folded "knots o'May." She seeks the summer-lover that never shall be hers, Fain for gold leaves of autumn she passes by the furze, Though buried gold it hideth: she scorns her sedgy crown, And pressing blindly sunwards she treads her snowdrops down. Her gifts are all a fardel of wayward smiles and tears, Yet hope she also holdeth, this daughter of the years-- A hope that blossoms faintly set upon sorrow's edge: She hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TOURNAMENT by SIDNEY LANIER THE WALLS DO NOT FALL: 4 by HILDA DOOLITTLE ASPATIA'S SONG, FR. THE MAID'S TRAEGDY by JOHN FLETCHER MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 4 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT OSWEGO LAKE by MARGARET BRADSHAW |