O Lake of sylvan shore! when gentle Spring Slopes down upon thee from the mountain side, When birds begin to build and brood and sing; Or, in maturer season, when the pied And fragrant turf is thronged with blossoms rare; In the frore sweetness of the breathing morn, When the loud echoes of the herdsman's horn Do sally forth upon the silent air Of thy thick forestry, may I be there, While the wood waits to see its phantom born At clearing twilight, in thy glassy breast; Or, when cool eve is busy, on thy shores, With trails of purple shadow from the West, Or dusking in the wake of tardy oars | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PINES AND THE SEA by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE EARLY PRIMROSE by HENRY KIRKE WHITE BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! by WALT WHITMAN IN THE GALLERY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |