Sleep, sleep, you great and dim trees, sleeping on The still warm, tender cheek of night, And with her cloudy hair
By Raj Karki5 years ago in Poets
It was in the early morning Of life, and of hope to me, I sat on a grassy hillside Of the Isle beyond the sea,
In this lone, open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!
On these green banks, where falls too soon The shade of Autumn's afternoon, The south wind blowing soft and sweet,
"Who knocks?" "I, who was beautiful, Beyond all dreams to restore, I, from the roots of the dark thorn, am hither.
It was out of order, and she's on top all the ' opes; I Shammin, the wounded, and Retirin from the Alt. Ole company is on the search for the closest route to the Slope:
Beside me, in the golden light That slants upon the floor, She twines the many-colored silks Her dimpled fingers o'er;
Out of the past there rises a week - Who shall read the years O! - Out of the past there rises a week Enringed with a purple zone.
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung And cut a flower beside a ground bird's nest Before it stained a single human breast.
(He speaks.) Walking, walking, oh, the joy of walking! Swinging down the tawny lanes with head held high;
And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd, Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,
Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs,
