While beams of orient light shoot wide and high, Deep in the vale a little rural Town Breathes forth a cloud-like creature of its own, That mounts not toward the radiant morning sky, But, with a less ambitious sympathy, Hangs o'er its Parent waking to the cares, Troubles and toils that every day prepares. So Fancy, to the musing Poet's eye, Endears that Lingerer. And how blest her sway (Like influence never may my soul reject), If the calm Heaven, now to its zenith decked With glorious forms in numberless array, To the lone shepherd on the hills disclose Gleams from a world in which the saints repose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DAFT DAYS by ROBERT FERGUSSON MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG: HER MORAL by THOMAS HOOD LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT by JEAN INGELOW SEVEN TIMES SEVEN [- LONGING FOR HOME] by JEAN INGELOW SOMETIMES by THOMAS SAMUEL JONES JR. RENASCENCE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY PALINODE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |