WHERE the golden corn is bending, And the singing reapers pass, Where the chestnut woods are sending Leafy showers upon the grass, The blue river onward flowing Mingles with its noisy strife, The murmur of the flowers growing, And the hum of insect life. I from that rich plain was gazing Towards the snowy mountains high, Who their gleaming peaks were raising Up against the purple sky. And the glory of their shining, Bathed in clouds of rosy light, Set my weary spirit pining For a home so pure and bright! So I left the plain, and weary, Fainting, yet with hope sustained, Toiled through pathways long and dreary Till the mountain-top was gained. Lo! the height that I had taken, As so shining from below, Was a desolate, forsaken Region of perpetual snow. I am faint, my feet are bleeding, All my feeble strength is worn, In the plain no soul is heeding, I am here alone, forlorn. Lights are shining, bells are tolling, In the busy vale below; Near me night's black clouds are rolling, Gathering o'er a waste of snow. So I watch the river winding Through the misty fading plain, Bitter are the tear-drops blinding, Bitter, useless toil and pain, -- Bitterest of all the finding That my dream was false and vain! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE REALM OF FANCY by JOHN KEATS ON HIS BEING [OR, HAVING] ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE by JOHN MILTON HEAVEN by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST FARM-YARD SONG by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE LETTERS by OSCAR WILDE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 1 by MARK AKENSIDE |