We come and go as the breezes blow, But whence or where Hath ne'er been told in the legends old By the dreaming seer. The welcome rain to the parching plain And the languid leaves, The rattling hail on the burnished mail Of the serried sheaves, The silent snow on the wintry brow Of the aged year, Wends each his way in the track of day From a clouded sphere; But still as the fog in the dismal bog Where the shifting sheen Of the spectral lamp lights the marshes damp, With a flash unseen We drip through the night from the starlids bright In the sleeping bowers, And deep in their breast is our perfumed rest Through the darkened hours; But again with the day we are up and away With our stolen dyes, To paint all the shrouds of the drifting clouds In the eastern skies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REVELATION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE PROMISES LIKE A PIE-CRUST by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI UPON WEDLOCK, AND DEATH OF CHILDREN by EDWARD TAYLOR THE GIRLS' LOT by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS THE LAST LOOK O' HAME by HEW AINSLIE IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE: A STORM by JOHN ARMSTRONG |