Explore Poems GO!

Sonnet Xvi. Recollection Of Wordsworth’s

Here are the brows of Quantock, purple--clad
With lavish heath--bloom: there, the banks of Tone.
Where is that woman, love--forlorn and sad,
Piping her flute of hemlock all alone?
I hear the Quantock woodman whistling home,--
The sunset flush is over Dunkery:--
I fear me much that she hath ceased to roam
Up the steep path, and lie beneath the tree.
I always fancied I should hear in sooth
That music,--but it sounds not!--wayward tears

Are filling in mine eyes for thee, poor Ruth;--
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

7/31/2021 10:58:58 AM # 1.0.0.666