The storm had well nigh gone; no fitful blast Lifted the weeping willow into heaven, To let it fall and weep again, downcast; How often is such fickle comfort given! How peaceful seemed the far up floating rook, Crossing with jetty wing the full white cloud, As to the blue beyond his way he took; While, in the grove, a lingering breeze allowed The sight to catch, 'mid play of wind and sun, The uncertain shadows of that woodland nook, Swallowing the silent shafts of light that run Along the spider's thread; on nature's book I love to pore, and mark what soars on high, Or lurks in bye-paths for the observant eye. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HIGH FLIGHT by JOHN GILLESPIE MAGEE JR. HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 1 by EZRA POUND INDIFFERENCE by GEOFFREY ANKETELL STUDDERT-KENNEDY SUMMER RAINSTORM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE SOUTH-WEST WIND by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |