NAY, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove, Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love Than terrors of red flame and thundering. The empurpled vines dear memories of Thee bring: A bird at evening flying to its nest, Tells me of One who had no place of rest: I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing. Come rather on some autumn afternoon, When red and brown are burnished on the leaves, And the fields echo to the gleaner's song, Come when the splendid fulness of the moon Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves, And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON SIR PALMES FAIRBORNE'S TOMB, IN WESTERMINSTER ABBEY by JOHN DRYDEN THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE!; A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND -- WEST KENT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM DESERT WATERCOLOR by RUBY BOWEN OUT OF THE SILENCE by S. MINERVA BOYCE THE PRISONER by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ON THE REFUSAL OF OXFORD TO SUBSCRIDBE TO HIS TRANSLATION by WILLIAM COWPER |