FROM labours through the night, outworn, Above the hills the front of morn We see, whose eyes to heights are raised, And the world's wise may deem us crazed. While yet her lord lies under seas, She takes us as the wind the trees' Delighted leafage; all in song We mount to her, to her belong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DINKEY-BIRD by EUGENE FIELD THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 83 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE BROOK; AN IDYL by ALFRED TENNYSON CANE: NOVEMBER COTTON FLOWER by JEAN TOOMER |