In a far-distant land they dwell, Incomprehensible, Who love the shadow more than light, More than the sun the moon, Cool evening more than noon, Pale silver more than gold that glitters bright. A dark cloud overhangs their land Like a mighty hand, Never moving from above it; A cool shade and moist and dim, With a twilight-purple rim, And they love it. And sometimes it giveth rain, But soon it ceaseth as before, And earth drieth up again; Then the dews rise more and more, Till it filleth, dropping o'er; But no forked lightnings flit, And no thunders roll in it. Thro' the land a river flows; With a sleepy sound it goes; Such a drowsy noise, in sooth, Those who will not listen, hear not; But if one is wakeful, fear not; It shall lull him to repose, Bringing back the dream's of youth. Hemlock groweth, poppy bloweth In the fields where no man moweth; And the vine is full of wine And are full of milk the kine, And the hares are all secure, And the birds are wild no more, And the forest-trees wax old, And winds stir, or hot, or cold, And yet no man taketh care, All things resting everywhere. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISASTER by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY SIBERIA by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN LONDON CHURCHES by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES ODES I, 5 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS EUROPE; THE 72ND AND 73RD YEARS OF THESE STATES by WALT WHITMAN |