Will it always be like this until I am dead, Every spring must I bear it all again With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs, And the first sweet-smelling rain? Oh I am like a rock in the rising river Where the flooded water breaks with a low call -- Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters And cannot answer at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS CONSCIENCE by ROBERT HERRICK A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 4. HER TRIUMPH by BEN JONSON IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 67 by ALFRED TENNYSON ICHABOD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER GOLDEN HILL by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG |