NOT much to me is yonder lane Where I go every day; But when there's been a shower of rain And hedge-birds whistle gay, I know my lad that's out in France With fearsome things to see Would give his eyes for just one glance At our white hawthorn tree. Not much to me is yonder lane Where he so longs to tread: But when there's been a shower of rain I think I'll never weep again Until I've heard he's dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STAR-TALK by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES SUNDAY MORNING by WALLACE STEVENS THE BEGGAR MAID [AND KING COPHETUA] by ALFRED TENNYSON SHRODON FEAR: THE REST O'T by WILLIAM BARNES SEEKING WATERS by DORIS R. BECK GOING BACK TO SCHOOL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ANTARA by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |