I HEAR it in the twilight; I catch it in the dawn, When all the eastern skyline is laced with rose and fawn; It cries me in the noonday amid the cold or heat; It shouts me in the forest; it hails me in the street; I hark its sudden bidding on many an upland track; Out of the days departed it summons me -- "Come back!" With sweet and tender tremors the heart o' me it thrills; I cast aside old sorrows; I rise above old ills; Whate'er the goal I'm seeking, I need nor spur nor goad; I am a gypsy vagrant footing a rainbow road; The tide about me beating leaps swift from ebb to flood, And re-awakened Aprils go singing through my blood. Throughout the scheme of being I find nor fleck nor flaw; The vivid joy of living, that is my only law; It may be but a moment the rapture-dream endures, And yet, -- ah, shining marvel! -- what weariness it cures! O Voice of Youth, O echo from Time's far-trodden track, Out of the days departed still call to me "Come back!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER AND POET; TURIN, AFTER THE NEWS FROM GAETA, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE DOG by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE BATTLEFIELD by EMILY DICKINSON UNDER THE WATERFALL by THOMAS HARDY BOY BRITTAN [FEBRUARY 8, 1862] by BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRIAN by THOMAS WYATT AUTUMN; WRITTEN IN THE GROUNDS OF MARTIN COLE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON TO --, WITH ARTHUR AND ALBINA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |