Far from the birds, the cattle herds, the village girls, What did I drink, kneeling in this heather, Surrounded by soft groves of hazel-trees, In the green lukewarm haze of an afternoon? What could I drink from this young stream, the Oise, -Slender elms without speech, turf without blossoms, overcast skies! - Drink in these yellow gourds, far from My cherished hut? Some liquor of gold, which makes sweat. I became a strange-looking signboard for a country inn. -A storm swept through the sky. At night The water of the groves vanished on the pure sands, The breath of God flung icicles on ponds; Weeping, I saw gold-and could not drink. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE, FR. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM by RICHARD BARNFIELD DO THOU LOVE, TOO! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ON THE AMOROUS AND PATHETIC STORY OF ARCADIUS AND SEPHA by L. B. FORMALITY AND THE SOUL: 2. JAMES MACNEIL WHISTLER by KARL W. BIGELOW THE SOUL-PATH by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE ABER STATIONS: STATIO QUINTA by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN WHERE LOVE IS by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |