The hills are tipped with sunshine, while I walk In shadows dim and cold: The unawakened rose sleeps on her stalk In a bud's fold. Until the sun flood all the world with gold. The hills are crowned with glory, and the glow Flows widening down apace: Unto the sunny hill-tops I, set low, Lift a tired face, ''" Ah happy rose, content to wait for grace I How tired a face, how tired a brain, how tired A heart I lift, who long For something never felt but still desired; Sunshine and song. Song where the choirs of sunny heaven stand choired. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOHENGRIN; PROEM by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE AN ISLAND (SAINT HELENA, 1821) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |