O, SWEET at this sweet hour to wander free, Or follow some invisible-beckoning hand, Among the moody mountains, where they stand Awed with the thought of their own majesty! Sweet, at the folding-up of day, to be Where, on the tattered fringes of the land, The uncourted flowers of the penurious sand Are pale against the pale lips of the sea. Sweetest to dream, on easeful earth reclined, Far in some forest's ancient idleness, Under the shadow of its bossy boles; Beyond the world's pursuit and Care's access; And hear the wild feet of the elfin wind Dancing and prancing in mad caprioles. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STIRRUP-CUP by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TO JOSIAH ROYCE by BRENT DOW ALLINSON TO ANACREON by ANTIPATER OF SIDON THE ASYLUM by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE CANON OF AUGHRIM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONNET: 8. TO THE RIVER ITCHIN, NEAR WINTON by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES |