THE narrow poplars down her lane a-row, That look so black and then so gusty white, She hates the old and foolish way they grow; Just now they hid him all too soon from sight. But back into the house she needs must go, To spread the board, prepare the meal aright, The savory things that little lads love so -- Round cakes, spiced meat, and apples red and bright. Oh dreams, but dreams! And but a sweet one, too, That yester, till it turned too dark to see, She fashioned a small garment for her lad -- That shadowy garment, with its sprig of blue: -- For long and long a barren mother she; And this the little son she never had! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOREST MAID by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD by THOMAS MOORE A SONNET by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN NEW YORK HARBOR by PARK BENJAMIN THE WISDOM OF MERLYN by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |