This poem describes a unique light that appears in spring on solitary hills and the furthest trees. This light almost seems to speak and affects the speaker with a sense of loss when it passes away as the day progresses, similar to how commerce might encroach upon something sacred. The light exists only in spring and science cannot explain it, but human nature can feel its presence.
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This poem describes a unique light that appears in spring on solitary hills and the furthest trees. This light almost seems to speak and affects the speaker with a sense of loss when it passes away as the day progresses, similar to how commerce might encroach upon something sacred. The light exists only in spring and science cannot explain it, but human nature can feel its presence.
This poem describes a unique light that appears in spring on solitary hills and the furthest trees. This light almost seems to speak and affects the speaker with a sense of loss when it passes away as the day progresses, similar to how commerce might encroach upon something sacred. The light exists only in spring and science cannot explain it, but human nature can feel its presence.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Available Formats
Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
This poem describes a unique light that appears in spring on solitary hills and the furthest trees. This light almost seems to speak and affects the speaker with a sense of loss when it passes away as the day progresses, similar to how commerce might encroach upon something sacred. The light exists only in spring and science cannot explain it, but human nature can feel its presence.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Available Formats
Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
Not present on the year At any other period. When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad On solitary hills That science cannot overtake, But human nature feels. It waits upon the lawn; It shows the furthest tree Upon the furthest slope we know; It almost speaks to me. Then, as horizons step, Or noons report away, Without the formula of sound, It passes, and we stay: A quality of loss Affecting our content, As trade had suddenly encroached Upon a sacrament.