Thomas Edward Brown
Sweet breeze that sett'st the summer birds a swaying,
Dear lambs amid the primrose meadows playing
Let me not think!
O floods, upon whose brink
The merry birds are maying,
Dream, softly dream! O blessed mother lead me
Unsevered from thy girdle — lead me! feed me!
I have no will but shine;
I need not but the juice
Of elemental wine—
Perish remoter use
Of strength reserved for conflict yet to come!
Let me be dumb,
As long as I may feel thy hand—
This, this is all—do ye not understand
How the great Mother mixes all our bloods ?
O breeze! O swaying buds!
O lambs, O primroses, O floods!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Lynton Verses by Thomas Edward Brown )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Meshing, Sadiqullah Khan
- The Chaste Stranger, James Tate
- The Blue Booby, James Tate
- Shroud of the Gnome, James Tate
- Poem to Some of My Recent Poems, James Tate
- Life is too Short for Love, Akhtar Jawad
- On the Subject of Doctors, James Tate
- Failed Tribute to the Stonemason of Tor .., James Tate
- A Wedding, James Tate
- I am not a religious and god centric:, binod bastola