OVER the hill-slopes and down through the hollows The silver-clad water-sprites rally and run; As fleet are their feet as the wings of the swallows, And whither they fare there's a gladness that follows As fresh and as bright and as blithe as the sun. And lo, at their touch there awakens, there kindles, A subtle, pervasive, unnamable thing! The blight upon beauty, like darkness it dwindles, For the workers of wonder are whirling their spindles, And fingers are lithe on the loom of the Spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 3. FULL MOON by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK THE CREATION (A NEGRO SERMON) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON WEIGHTS AND MEASURES, BY OUR OWN TOM DALY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MR. N. TATE by PHILIP AYRES |