As the young stag, when lusty Spring supreme O'er Winter's biting cold at last prevails, To crop the honeyed leafage seeks new trails And leaves his dear retreat at dawn's first gleam; Alone, secure, afar (as he may deem) From bay of hounds, or hunters' echoing hails, Now on the mountain-slopes, now in the vales, Now by the waters of a secret stream, He wantons freely, at his own sweet will, Knowing no fear of net or bow, until, Pierced with one dart, he lies dead in his pride -- Even so I wandered, with no thought of woe, In my life's April -- when one quick-drawn bow Planted a thousand arrows in my side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG MAKER by SARA TEASDALE ASKING FOR ROSES by ROBERT FROST THE ATLANTIDES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU CELEBRATION ODE by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN IDYLL 2. EROS AND THE FOWLER by BION THE DAIMYO'S POND by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE EVICTION by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: IMR EL KAIS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |