NOT Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell, Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change, Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange -- Not these 'alone' inspire the tuneful shell; But where untroubled peace and concord dwell, There also is the Muse not loth to range, Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange, Skyward ascending from a woody dell. Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour, And sage content, and placid melancholy; She loves to gaze upon a crystal river -- Diaphanous because it travels slowly; Soft is the music that would charm for ever; The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY'S LAMB by SARAH JOSEPHA BUELL HALE DITTY IN IMITATION OF THE SPANISH: ENTRE TANTO QUE L'AVRIL by EDWARD HERBERT SONNET: 31 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY BY THE SEA by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |