UNDER the cypresses, here in the stony Woods of the mountain, the Spring too is sunny. Rare Spring and early, Birds singing sparely, Pale sea-green hellebore smelling of honey. Desolate, bright, in the blue Lenten weather, Cones of the cypresses sparkle together, Shining brightly, Loosely and lightly, The winds lift the branches and stir them and feather. Where the sun pierces, the sharp boulders glitter Desolate, bright; and the white moths flitter Pallidly over The bells that cover With faint-smelling green all the fragrant brown litter. Down in the plain the sun ripens for hours -- Look! in the orchards a mist of pale flowers -- Past the rose-hedges A-bloom to the edges, A smoke of blue olives, a vision of towers! Here only hellebore grows, only shade is; Surely the very Spring here half afraid is: Out of her bosom Drops not a blossom, Mutely she passes through -- she and her ladies. Mutely? Ah, no; for a pause, and thou hearest One bird who sings alone -- one bird, the dearest. Nay, who shall name it, Call it or claim it? Such birds as sing at all sing here their clearest. Ah, never dream that the brown meadow-thrushes, Finches, or happy larks sing in these hushes. Only some poet Of birds, flying to it, Sings here alone, and is lost to the bushes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONLY A WOMAN by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK BILL SWEENY OF THE BLACK GANG by JAMES BARNES PSALM 103 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE J.K.; SOLDIER OF FORTUNE by BERTON BRALEY THE CHILD'S FUNERAL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WRETTEN BY ME ON THE DEATH OF MY CHILD ROBERT PAYLER by MARY CAREY OF TASTE; AN ESSAY, SELECTION by JAMES CAWTHORN |