How many times the flow'rs have blown And died again, from spring to fall, Since shapes of early friends were shown As fair as they among them all. Or since, below the summer light, On banks by daisyheads bespread, Or fields by yarrow dappled white, Their shadows mark'd their comely head. Or fell at evening on the wall, Beside the door; or glided cool, By moonpaled timber-stems, to fall On glitt'ring dew, or shining pool. O sun and moon, that love to mark All earthborn shapes, or quick, or still, The wayfarer, the gliding bark, The highbough'd tree, or lofty hill; In your sweet light, so pale or red, But sad to me, you seem to miss The shape of some all-comely head You copied in our day of bliss. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF ONE DEAD by CONRAD AIKEN SMALL COUNTRIES by JAMES GALVIN THE POET SPEAKS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR |