I cannot rest when the cool is gone from June, But haunt the dim verandah till the moon Fades from the dawn's pursuit. The stirrup-fires beneath the terrace flare; Over the star-domed court a low, sad air Roams from a hidden lute. This endless heat doth urge me to extremes; Yet cool of autumn waits till the wild goose screams In the track of whirling skies. My hand is laid upon the cup once more, And of the red-gold vintage I implore The sleep that night denies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE IDYLL 1. LAMENT FOR ADONIS by BION LAUGHING SONG, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE DISASTER by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE FIRE OF DRIFTWOOD; DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLEHEAD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |