Yet even mid merry boyhood's tricks and scapes, Early my heart a deeper lesson learnt: Wandering alone by many a mile of burnt Black woodside, that but the snowflake decks and drapes; And I have stood beneath Canadian sky In utter solitudes, where the cricket's cry Appals the heart, and fear takes visible shapes; And on Long Island's void and isolate capes Heard the sea break like iron bars. And still In all I seemed to hear the same deep dirge Borne in the wind, the insect's tiny trill, And crash and jangle of the shaking surge, And knew not what they meant, prophetic woe? Dim bodings wherefore? Now indeed I know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN THE BROOK by ROBERT FROST A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN GLAMOUR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MARY CHURCH TERRELL - LECTURER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER |