Ah, june is here, but where is May?— That lovely, shadowy thing, Fair promiser of fairer day, That made my fancy stretch her wing, In hope-begetting spring. The spaces vague, the luminous veil, The drift of bloom and scent, Those dreamy longings setting sail, That knew not, asked not, where they went,— Ah! was this all they meant,— This day that lets me dream no more, This bright, unshadowed round? On some illimitable shore, The harbor whither those were bound Lieth, nor yet is found.
Unfulfilment
More from Poet
-
Restless, to-night, and ill at ease, And finding every place too strait, I leave the porch shut in with trees, And wander through the garden-gate. So dark at first, I have to feel My way before me with my hands; But soul-like fragrances reveal My virgin Daphne, where she stands. Her...
-
Ah, june is here, but where is May?— That lovely, shadowy thing, Fair promiser of fairer day, That made my fancy stretch her wing, In hope-begetting spring. The spaces vague, the luminous veil, The drift of bloom and scent, Those dreamy longings setting sail, That knew not, asked not...
-
Jubilant the music through the fields a-ringing,— Carol, warble, whistle, pipe,—endless ways of singing, Oriole, bobolink, melody of thrushes, Rustling trees, hum of bees, sudden little hushes, Broken suddenly again— Carol, whistle, rustle, humming, In reiterate refrain,...