THE charlock and the hemlock flowers Have hung their laces o'er the green; The buttercups are bright and sheen As though the Spring were ours. But through the poplar-rank there shines The white interminable way; And down the hill the budding vines Go softly gloved in grey. Amid a purer loftier sky The foreign sun burns far and bright: ...O mistier fields! O tenderer light! I pause awhile and sigh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERY EARLY SPRING by KATHERINE MANSFIELD NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD! by ISAAC MCLELLAN JR. ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 90 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE SMALL CELANDINE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 2. OF GRATITUDE by WILLIAM BASSE |