The years had worn their seasons' belt, From bud to rosy prime, Since Nellie by the larch-pole knelt And helped the hop to climb. Most diligent of teachers then, But now with all to learn, She breathed beyond a thought of men, Though formed to make men burn. She dwelt where 'twixt low-beaten thorns Two mill-blades, like a snail, Enormous, with inquiring horns, Looked down on half the vale. You know the grey of dew on grass Ere with the young sun fired, And you know well the thirst one has For the coming and desired. Quick in our ring she leapt, and gave Her hand to left, to right. No claim on her had any, save To feed the joy of sight. For man and maid a laughing word She tossed, in notes as clear As when the February bird Sings out that Spring is near. Of what befell behind that scone, Let none who knows reveal. In ballad days she might have been A heroine rousing steel. On us did she bestow the hour, And fixed it firm in thought; Her spirit like a meadow flower That gives, and asks for nought. She seemed to make the sunlight stay And show her in its pride. O she was fair as a beech in May With the sun on the yonder side. There was more life than breath can give, In the looks in her fair form; For little can we say we live Until the heart is warm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE [WHILE ON A VISIT TO UPPER INDIA] by REGINALD HEBER TROPIC NIGHTFALL by ROBERT AVRETT THE POET'S TERROR AT THE BALIFFS OF EXETER, FR. FREEDOM: A POEM by ANDREW BRICE DICTATOR by KATHARINE BROWN BURT OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 5. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE FIRST EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |