THIS pleasant tale is like a little copse: The honied lines do freshly interlace To keep the reader in so sweet a place, So that he here and there full-hearted stops; And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops Come cool and suddenly against his face, And by the wandering melody may trace Which way the tender-legged linnet hops. Oh! what a power hath white Simplicity! What mighty power has this gentle story! I that for ever feel athirst for glory Could at this moment be content to lie Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings Were heard of none beside the mournful robins. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOOK OF STONES AND LILIES by AMY LOWELL MY DEARLING by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN NAPEOLON'S FAREWELL; FROM THE FRENCH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON HIS REQUEST TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK THE OLD CHURCHYARD OF BONCHURCH by PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON ALCAICS: TO H. F. BROWN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |