IS this sad void all that is left of Spring, Of fire and dream, of quick and delicate days? And must all they who pass along these ways, Come to this silence of remembering? I, too, in the young year have had a part; Once was it hard to doubt as hard to grieve; So easy once, so easy to believe! -- Now all my harvest is a troubled heart. Yet has not doubt its place, and so its right? Its dreams and visions, faint but unforgot? Its longing mood whence breaks some sure, glad thing, Higher than shrine, or star, or evenlight? Lord of the stubble, though I see Thee not, About me sounds the Rumor of the Spring! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VANITY OF THE WORLD by FRANCIS QUARLES THE HAPPY WARRIOR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE LOVER SHOWETH HOW HE IS FORSAKEN by THOMAS WYATT ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 14. TO THE HON. CHARLES TOWNSHEND - FROM THE COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE HINTS OF AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 22 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |