Through the slumberous, level masses of leaves, The dusky, soft foretoken of green, Gently the promise of morning weaves Hints of the sky more felt than seen. There is no light but light in a dream, And forms that flow to a formless dark, Softly flow as a sleeping stream, Dully float as an anchored bark. And yet the woodland is slowly astir, The masses are lifted and breathing fall; Breath of Her and stirrings of Her, For the body of Day is under it all! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE NOTHING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH HAIL TEESSIDE! by CECIL DAY LEWIS ON BRODSKY'S COLLECTED by MICHAEL S. HARPER CHAMBER MUSIC: 14 by JAMES JOYCE IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE MIDSUMMER FROST (1) by ISAAC ROSENBERG |