THE rim of the moon Is over the corn. The beetle's drone Is above the thorn. Grey days come soon And I am alone; Can you hear my moan Where you rest, Aroon? When the wild tree bore The deep blue cherry, In night's deep hall Our love kissed merry. But you come no more Where its woodlands call, And the grey days fall On my grief, Astore! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME by WALT WHITMAN ROMANCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO H. M. by FRANCIS BARNARD (20TH CENTURY) NIGHT IN CAMP by HERBERT BASHFORD MY DWELLING by FRANCES HALLEY BROCKETT |