Explore "When the Poet Came" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The ferny places gleam at morn, / The dew drips off the leaves of corn; / Along the brook a mist of white / Fades as a kiss on lips of light; / For, lo! the poet with his pipe / Finds all these melodies are ripe!
Far up within the cadenced June / Floats, silver-winged, a living tune / That winds within the morning's chime / And sets the earth and sky to rhyme; / For, lo! the poet, absent long, / Breathes the first raptures of his song!
Across the clover-blossoms, wet, / With dainty clumps of violet, / And wild red roses in her hair, / There comes a little maiden fair.
I cannot more of June rehearse -- / She is the ending of my verse.
Ah, nay! For through perpetual days / Of summer gold and filmy haze, / When Autumn dies in Winter's sleet, / I yet will see those dew-washed feet, / And o'er the tracts of Life and Time / They make the cadence for my rhyme.