Explore "Not yet, My Soul, These Friendly Fields Desert" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Not yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert, / Where thou with grass, and rivers, and the breeze, / And the bright face of day, thy dalliance hadst; / Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds; / Where love and thou that lasting bargain made.
The ship rides trimmed, and from the eternal shore / Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet / Depart, my soul, not yet a while depart.