GREEN ripples singing down the corn, With blossoms dumb the path I tread, And in the music of the morn One with wild roses on her head. Now the green ripples turn to gold And all the paths are loud with rain, I with desire am growing old And full of winter pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 12. A RENUNCIATION by THOMAS CAMPION FRED ENGLEHARDT'S BABY by CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS A KISS - BY MISTAKE by JOEL BENTON CHRISTMAS by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |