THROUGH dreamful meads, that still his spirit keep, Roamed the boy-poet, when the morn was young, And listened while the skylark's mirth out-rung, Though his own heart was warbling strains more deep; And 'mid half-wakened king-cups, thought of sleep More sweet than theirs, that waited till he sung, And bade it flee; then to his eyes there sprung Such gladsome tears, as waking, she might weep. Here with his Love he wandered to and fro, Yet 'mid his utmost passion of desire, High hopes, deep thoughts, had room to live and grow; Here, while he mused of old heroic strife, His blood leapt through his veins, a fount of fire, And all his nature glowed with boundless life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAR THAT ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK by JAMES GALVIN PERSPECTIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO SAMUEL COLERIDGE UPON HEARING HIS 'SOME I FEEL LIKE A MOTHERLESS..' by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE NEW APOCRYPHA: BERENICE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DECEPTION PASS; FOR JUDY AND MARK KAWASAKI by KAREN SWENSON |