The edge of thought was blunted by the stress Of the hard world; my fancy had wax'd dull, All nature seemed less nobly beautiful, - Robbed of her grandeur and her loveliness; Methought the Muse within my heart had died, Till, late, awaken'd at the break of day, Just as the East took fire and doff'd its gray, The rich preparatives of light I spied; But one sole star - none other anywhere - A wild-rose odour from the fields was borne: The lark's mysterious joy fill'd earth and air, And from the wind's top met the hunter's horn; The aspen trembled wildly, and the morn Breathed up in rosy clouds, divinely fair! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS A WOMAN'S LAST WORD by ROBERT BROWNING NO MASTER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES NOT DEAD by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER |