So saith he, when noontide fervors flout him, So thinks, when the West is amber and red, When he smells the hop-vines sweet about him, And the clouds are rosy overhead. While slender and tall the hop-poles going Straight to the West in their leafy lines, Portion it out into chambers, glowing, And bask in red day as the sun declines. Between the leaves in his latticed arbor He sees the sky, as they flutter and turn, While moor'd like boats in a golden harbor The fleets of feathery cloudlets burn. Withdrawn in shadow, he thinketh over Harsh thoughts, the fruit-laden trees among, Till pheasants call their young to cover, And cushats coo them a nursery song. And flocks of ducks forsake their sedges, Wending home to the wide barn-door, And loaded wains between the hedges Slowly creep to his threshing floor - Slowly creep. And his tired senses, Float him over the magic stream, To a world where Fancy recompenses Vengeful thoughts, with a troubled dream! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ON THE RHINE by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES THE LAST WORD OF A BLUEBIRD; AS TOLD TO A CHILD by ROBERT FROST THE BANNER OF THE JEW by EMMA LAZARUS THE HARVEST MOON; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |