The yellow violets know it up the rills; And colonies of blood-roots in the groves Of beeches know it; and the poplar moves Wise orange tassels; to their crimson tips The sugar-maples know; and speckled lips Of bull-frogs, too, gurgling from hour to hour A chain of sound more silver than a flower. I know it last, being man; but tiger-heat Now leaps the rivers from my head to feet, And standing in a rhododendron jungle I feel the nerves of lip and finger tingle. A white mist follows, mixing foam and fire, And though desirous, I have no desire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION FOR A PLOT OF GROUND by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS MOTHERHOOD by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY A COMPARISON by WILLIAM COWPER THE NILE by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT LAST SONNET (REVISED VERSION) by JOHN KEATS RHOECUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |