Aslant from yonder sunlit hill The lance-like sunrays stream across The meadows where the king-cups toss I' the wind, and where the beech-leaves thrill With flooding light they twist and turn And seem to interlace and burn, Until at last in tangle spun 'Mid the damp grass their race is run. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETURNED FROM THE WAR by HENRY ABBEY EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 23. SOONER WOUNDED THAN CURED by PHILIP AYRES THE SONG OF THE COSSACK by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER THEIR EASTER AND OURS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE KITCHENER'S MARCH by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |