FOR miles beyond the orange river The olive orchards gleam and shiver, And, at the river's brink as pale, The ranks of moonlit rushes quiver. And somewhere in a hidden vale The unseen and secret nightingale Her olden woe doth still deliver, Though all the orchards know the tale. O magic of the South! Whenever Your sweet dissolving breezes sever About my heart the bands of mail, I too would sing, and sing for ever! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APOLLO by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS NICHOLAS NYE by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP by HEINRICH HOFFMANN TO GIOVANNI DA PISTOIA ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL, 1509 by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES ECLOGUE: FATHER COME HWOME by WILLIAM BARNES SONNET: 7 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |