By the bleak wild hill,
Or the deep lake still,
In the silent grain
On the upland plain,
I would that the unsparing Storm might rage,
And blot with gloom the fair day's sunny page.
The lightning's gleam
Should gentle seem,
The thunder's blow
Both soft and low,
For now the world hath fill of summer weather,
Ye shining days thy throng you thus together.
I am possesst
With strange Unrest,
My feelings jar.
My heart is war,
A spirit dances in my dreams to-day.
I am too cold, for its strange, sunny play.
Then hurry down
With angry frown,
Thou sudden storm
come fierce and warm,
And splinter trees and whistle o'er the moor,
For in thy Bravery I can life endure.
That is what poetry means to me..A feeling or emotion that can be passed from generation to generation, helping others see that we were not alone.
Or the deep lake still,
In the silent grain
On the upland plain,
I would that the unsparing Storm might rage,
And blot with gloom the fair day's sunny page.
The lightning's gleam
Should gentle seem,
The thunder's blow
Both soft and low,
For now the world hath fill of summer weather,
Ye shining days thy throng you thus together.
I am possesst
With strange Unrest,
My feelings jar.
My heart is war,
A spirit dances in my dreams to-day.
I am too cold, for its strange, sunny play.
Then hurry down
With angry frown,
Thou sudden storm
come fierce and warm,
And splinter trees and whistle o'er the moor,
For in thy Bravery I can life endure.
That is what poetry means to me..A feeling or emotion that can be passed from generation to generation, helping others see that we were not alone.
