NOW through the April land doth pass, As through the slim, Sicilian grass, The Vision of the Daffodils -- Persephone! Persephone! And ever still Persephone! This antique cry the weather fills. It is the old mood of the spring, A sweet and a heart-breaking thing -- The budding joy, the vanished good; For, though we pluck the daffodils, Or walk with laughter on the hills, Yet go we empty through the wood! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VISIONS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF ALBION by WILLIAM BLAKE WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS by RICHARD CRASHAW RESERVE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE EPITAPH by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU THE SONG OF THE COSSACK by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER TO THE PREACHERS ON ARMISTICE DAY by VINCENT GODFREY BURNS SHIPS AT SEA by ROBERT BARRY COFFIN TO A YOUNG GENTLE-WOMAN [CONCERNING HER CHOICE] by RICHARD CRASHAW |