I THE morning sun seemed fair as though It were a great red rose ablow In lavish bloom, With all the air for its perfume, -- Yet he who had been wont to sing, Could trill no thing. II Supine, at noon, as he looked up Into the vast inverted cup Of heavenly gold, Brimmed with its marvels manifold, And his eye kindled, and his cheek -- Song could not speak. III Night fell forebodingly; he knew Soon must the rain be falling, too, -- And, home, heartsore, A missive met him at the door -- -- Then Song lit on his lips, and he Sang gloriously. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WILLOW POEM by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS WAPENTAKE; TO ALFRED TENNYSON by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW REPRESSION OF WAR EXPERIENCE by SIEGFRIED SASSOON DISILLUSIONMENT OF TEN O'CLOCK by WALLACE STEVENS IDYLLS OF THE KING: THE PASSING OF ARTHUR by ALFRED TENNYSON THIS IS NOT I by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS |