NO gale that heaven could send her Troubles the lands or seas, Yet Poplar, that pretender, Green-kirtled to the knees, Is crying and complaining, Lashed by a fancied storm, And now to earth is straining Her silk and slender form. A lady with a vapour, She faints and shrieks and cries; Again, like a tall taper, Aspires to the still skies. Though lad and lass go Maying, Though June hath brought the rose, She yet goes masquing, playing, At times of storms and snows. There's a soft voice of laughter Amid her leafy screen, Like small hands clapping after The players' merriest scene. And yet the Poplar mocking, Of storms she has her fill, And now wind-tossed and rocking, And now demure and still, So tall, so fair, so slender, Plays with such charm her part, Who sees must still commend her, Who hears exalt her art. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VILLAGE IN LATE SUMMER by CARL SANDBURG GRAND ARMY PLAZA by KAREN SWENSON MOZART'S REQUIEM by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FOR DECORATION DAY: 1861-1865 by RUPERT HUGHES THE DIRGE [FOR FIDELE], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |