On the river, in the shallows, on the shore, Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb; O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before Utter gloom. Only here betwixt the ramparts of tall trees, In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar, Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze, Scarce a star. Where the shadow of the ruined water-mill Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet, And the warm air seems to slumber over-still, Over-sweet, Hark the Night-jar! In the meadows by the stream Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well, For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream, Or a spell. All the nightingales along the bowery reach Plain together when the midnight moon is bright: This bird only knows the secret speech Of dark night. Turn the boat now. Row away, friends. Let us hence, Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath, Plunge us one and all into that dream intense Which is Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COMING OF WAR: ACTAEON by EZRA POUND A BARD'S EPITAPH by ROBERT BURNS STRANGE MEETINGS: 1 by HAROLD MONRO SONNET: 87 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE LILIES: 20. 'SOME DAY I WILL TELL YOU' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |