'Tis sweet, when slanting light the field adorns, To see the new-shorn flocks recline or browse; While swallows flit among the restful cows, Their gurgling dew-laps, and their harmless horns; Or flirt the aged hunter, in his dose, With passing wing; yet with no thought to grieve His mild, unjealous, innocent repose, With those keen contrasts our sad hearts conceive. And then, perchance, the evening wind awakes With sudden tumult, and the bowery ash Goes storming o'er the golden moon, whose flash Fills and refills its breezy gaps and breaks; The weeping willow at her neighbour floats, And busy rustlings stir the wheat and oats. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIR SINGER by ANDREW MARVELL AN ECHO FROM WILLOW-WOOD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ROLL-CALL by NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD CHARADES: 2 by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SONG TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAIS'D MY MISTRESS' BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND by THOMAS CAREW THE FOSTER MOTHER'S TALE (1) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |