How many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy, -- I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude: But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime. So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; The songs of birds -- the whisp'ring of the leaves -- The voice of waters -- the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, -- and thousand others more, That distance of recognizance bereaves, Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUSE by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH THE MOTHER by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE BAYARD TAYLOR by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE SECOND CANTO, OR FIRST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE BIRDS OF PASSAGE: PRELUDE by MATHILDE BLIND |