The multitude of voices blythe Of early day, the hissing scythe Across the dew drawn and withdrawn, The noisy peacock on the lawn, These, and the sun's eye-gladding gleam, This morning, chased the sweetest dream That e'er shed penitential grace On life's forgetful commonplace; Yet 'twas no sweeter than the spell To which I woke to say farewell. Noon finds me many a mile removed From her who must not be beloved; And us the waste sea soon shall part, Heaving for aye, without a heart! Mother, what need to warn me so? @3I@1 love Miss Churchill? Ah, no, no. I view, enchanted, from afar, And love her as I love a star. For, not to speak of colder fear, Which keeps my fancy calm, I hear, Under her life's gay progress hurl'd, The wheels of the preponderant world, Set sharp with swords that fool to slay Who blunders from a poor byway, To covet beauty with a crown Of earthly blessing added on; And she's so much, it seems to me, Beyond all women womanly, I dread to think how he should fare Who came so near as to despair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE VALLEY OF THE ELWY by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE MOTHER'S HEART by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON WINTERTIME by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON A MORNING PIECE; WRITTEN IN ABSENCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN EXTRACTS FROM VERSES WRITTEN FOR THE NEW YEAR, 1823 by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD MAGNIFICENT CRY by HELEN BRYANT THE LAST CRUSADER by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |