ABOUT my window in a wreath, Pink roses yield their spiced breath, So that I can see and know The very way that roses grow, From the pink shoot upon the stem Unto the fullest diadem. All night the fragrant dew and cool Lies like a little silver pool About the corncrake's feet; he stalks By emerald and by amber walks, And is ensilvered by the moon From his grey head to his grey shoon. The wood-dove croons me into rest; Night has a soft and dreamless breast; The cuckoo hales me wide awake From the far hill, the distant brake, Shouting his cuckoo-call in showers Over my bed as it were flowers. Such quietness on vale and hill, Such skies of rose and daffodil And primrose, and the sleepy folk Wrapped in the silence as a cloak Broidered with roses small and close. My dreams are drenched with attar of rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CAPITAL SQUARE by PATRICK JOHN MCALISTER ANDERSON LINES PLACED OVER A CHIMNEY-PIECE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ON SENDING MY SON AS A PRESENT TO DR. SWIFT by MARY BARBER THE INVITATION by JAMES BARCLAY |