MY love is more than life to me; And you look on and wonder In what can that illusion be You think I labour under. Yet you, too, have you never gone, Some wet and yellow even, Where russet moors reach on and on Beneath a windy heaven? Brown moors, which, at the western edge, A watery sunset brushes, With misty rays yon cloudy ledge Casts down upon the rushes. You see no more; but shade your eyes, Forget the showery weather, Forget the wet, tempestuous skies And look upon the heather. O fairyland, fairyland! It sparkles, lives, and dances, By every gust swayed down and fanned, And every rain-drop glances. Never in jewel or wine the light Burned like the purple heather; And some is palest pink, some white, Swaying and dancing together. Every stem is sharp and clear, Every bell is ringing, No doubt, some tune we do not hear For the thrushes' sleepy singing. Over all, like the bloom on a grape, The lilac seeding-grasses Have made a haze, vague, without shape, For the wind to change as it passes. Under all is the budding ling, Grey-green with scarlet notches, Bossed with many a mossy thing, And gold with lichen-blotches. Here and there slim rushes stand Aslant as carried lances. I saw it, and called it fairyland; You never saw it, the chance is? Brown moors and stormy skies that kiss At eve in rainy weather You saw -- but what the heather is Saw I, who love the heather. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 156 by PETRARCH THE DUG-OUT by SIEGFRIED SASSOON IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER RELEASE by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD CHANGE OF MOOD by HAROLD BERGMAN THE COMING OF THE SNOW by MARION L. BERTRAND |