Ohthat a Song would sing itself to me Out of the heart of Nature, or the heart Of man, the child of Nature, not of Art, Fresh as the morning, salt as the salt sea, With just enough of bitterness to be A medicine to this sluggish mood, and start The life-blood in my veins, and so impart Healing and help in this dull lethargy! Alas! not always doth the breath of song Breathe on us. It is like the wind that bloweth At its own will, not ours, nor tarries long; We hear the sound thereof, but no man knoweth From whence it comes, so sudden and swift and strong, Nor whither in its wayward course it goeth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALAS! POOR QUEEN by MARION ANGUS STANZAS IN MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR OF OBERMANN by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM by WILLIAM COWPER HYMN OF TRUST by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE SILENT VOICES by ALFRED TENNYSON EVENING MYSTERY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |