Move on, light hands, so strongly, tenderly, Now with dropped calm and yearning undersong, Now swift and loud, tumultuously strong, And I in darkness, sitting near to thee, Shall only hear, and feel, but shall not see, One hour made passionately bright with dreams, Keen glimpses of life's splendor, dashing gleams Of what we would, and what we cannot be. Surely not painful ever, yet not glad, Shall such hours be to me, but blindly sweet, Sharp with all yearning and all fact at strife, Dreams that shine by with unremember'd feet, And tones that like far distance make this life Spectral and wonderful and strangely sad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BETH GELERT; OR, THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND by WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER THE SORROW OF LOVE (1) by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON by AMBROSE BIERCE MYSTERY by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT OUR FIFTY-FIFTH; 1843-1897 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |