Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee Hums by us with the honey of the Spring, And showers of sweet notes from the larks on wing Are dropping like a noon-dew, wander we. Or is it now? or was it then? for now, As then, the larks from running rings pour showers: The golden foot of May is on the flowers, And friendly shadows dance upon her brow. What's this, when Nature swears there is no change To challenge eyesight? Now, as then, the grace Of heaven seems holding earth in its embrace. Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange? Look, woman, in the West. There wilt thou see An amber cradle near the sun's decline: Within it, featured even in death divine, Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I'VE NOTHING TO OFFER by DAVID IGNATOW TO BEACHEY, 1912 by CARL SANDBURG THE FAIRY THORN; AN ULSTER BALLAD by SAMUEL FERGUSON THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK |