With weary steps I loiter on, Tho' always under alter'd skies The purple from the distance dies, My prospect and horizon gone. No joy the blowing season gives, The herald melodies of spring, But in the songs I love to sing A doubtful gleam of solace lives. If any care for what is here Survive in spirits render'd free, Then are these songs I sing of thee Not all ungrateful to thine ear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I SAW A STABLE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS by RICHARD CRASHAW A SEA-SPELL (FOR A PICTURE) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SURNAMES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD FAMILIAR EPISTLES ON A SERMON, 'OFFICE & OPERATIONS OF HOLY SPIRIT': 2 by JOHN BYROM SAD MEMORIES by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. AH! BLESSED IS HE by EDWARD CARPENTER |