Still pressing through these weeping solitudes, Perchance I snatch a beam of comfort bright And pause to fix the gleam or lose it quite That darkens as I move or but intrudes To baffle and forelay: as sometimes here, When late at night the waried engineer Driving his engine up through Whately woods Sees on the track a glimmering lantern light And checks his crashing speed, with hasty hand Reversing and retarding;--but again, Look where it burns, a furlong on before! The witchlight of the reedy rivershore, The pilot of the forest and the fen, Not to be left, but with the waste woodland. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RHINOCEROS by HILAIRE BELLOC I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH A REAL HARD TIME BEFORE' by HAYDEN CARRUTH HAIL TEESSIDE! by CECIL DAY LEWIS DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |