THIS is the wood my holy angel-child Made joyous with her song, that day in Spring; These are the flowers her touch was gladdening While here she dreamed apart, and dreaming smiled; This is the little woodland meadow wild Whose green young life seemed neath her feet to spring As step by step she wandered, pillaging Flowers sweet as she was, fresh and undefiled. This is the spot where first I saw her smile With eyes that rapt my soul away the while; Here I have seen her weep, there heard her sing, 'Twas here I saw her dance, there sit aloof. . . . Of such vague thoughts, with shuttle wandering, Love weaves my web of life, both warp and woof. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 1. 1887 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC by BEN JONSON SONNET: THE RARITY OF GENIUS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |