LOW hidden in among the forest trees An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these A fluffy water-spaniel, half asleep Beside a sketch-book and a fallen hat -- A little wicker flask tossed into that. A sense of utter carelessness and grace Of pure abandon in the slumb'rous scene, -- As if the June, all hoydenish of face, Had romped herself to sleep there on the green, And brink and sagging bridge and sliding stream Were just romantic parcels of her dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL by ROBERT BROWNING MILTON AT CRIPPLEGATE by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. A SONG OF ONE IN OLD AGE by EDWARD CARPENTER THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN: 7. THE LEGEND OF PHILOMELA by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |