

Discover more from Dead Poets Daily
No commentary, no ads, just poems from the greats.
Continue reading
Great pine-trees, gauzy in the mist, A blur of fern leaves, silvered gray. The flutter Of wide wings, heavy with the rain, As an owl drifts over. Distant thunder. Fragrance of forest leaves, and fresh Scent that the wind brings from the lake. Dreams drifting through the rain, and then, The lightning—the keen memory of your face.