Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes
Come, spread your wings, as I spread mine, And leave the crowded hall For where the eyes of twilight shine O'er evening's western wall. These are the pleasant Berkshire hills, Each with its leafy crown; Hark! from their sides a thousand rills Come singing sweetly down. A thousand rills; they leap and shine, Strained through the shadowy nooks, Till, clasped in many a gathering twine, They swell a hundred brooks. A hundred brooks, and still they run With ripple, shade, and gleam, Till, clustering all their braids in one, They flow a single stream. A bracelet spun from mountain mist, A silvery sash unwound, With ox-bow curve and sinuous twist It writhes to reach the Sound. This is my bark, - a pygmy's ship; Beneath a child it rolls; Fear not, - one body makes it dip, But not a thousand souls. Float we the grassy banks between; Without an oar we glide; The meadows, drest in living green, Unroll on either side. Come, take the book we love so well, And let us read and dream We see whate'er its pages tell, And sail an English stream. Up to the clouds the lark has sprung, Still trilling as he flies; The linnet sings as there he sung; The unseen cuckoo cries, And daisies strew the banks along, And yellow kingcups shine, With cowslips, and a primrose throng, And humble celandine. Ah foolish dream! when Nature nursed Her daughter in the West, The fount was drained that opened first; She bared her other breast. On the young planet's orient shore Her morning hand she tried; Then turned the broad medallion o'er And stamped the sunset side. Take what she gives, her pine's tall stem, Her elm with hanging spray; She wears her mountain diadem Still in her own proud way. Look on the forests' ancient kings, The hemlock's towering pride Yon trunk had thrice a hundred rings, And fell before it died. Nor think that Nature saves her bloom And slights our grassy plain; For us she wears her court costume, - Look on its broidered train; The lily with the sprinkled dots, Brands of the noontide beam; The cardinal, and the blood-red spots, Its double in the stream, As if some wounded eagle's breast, Slow throbbing o'er the plain, Had left its airy path impressed In drops of scarlet rain. And hark! and hark! the woodland rings; There thrilled the thrush's soul; And look! that flash of flamy wings, - The fire-plumed oriole! Above, the hen-hawk swims and swoops, Flung from the bright, blue sky; Below, the robin hops, and whoops His piercing, Indian cry. Beauty runs virgin in the woods Robed in her rustic green, And oft a longing thought intrudes, As if we might have seen. Her every finger's every joint Ringed with some golden line, Poet whom Nature did anoint Had our wild home been thine. Yet think not so; Old England's blood Runs warm in English veins; But wafted o'er the icy flood Its better life remains. Our children know each wildwood smell, The bayberry and the fern, The man who does not know them well Is all too old to learn. Be patient! On the breathing page Still pants our hurried past; Pilgrim and soldier, saint and sage, The poet comes the last! Though still the lark-voiced matins ring The world has known so long; The wood-thrush of the West shall sing Earth's last sweet even-song!
Type of Poem: Narrative Poem
Date Written:
Date Published:
Language: English
Keywords: Public Domain
Source: Public Domain Collection
Publisher:
Rights/Permissions: Public Domain
Comments/Notes: This poem is a celebration of the natural world, with a clear theme of escapism and a deep sense of reverence for the environment. The poet invites readers to join them in a journey, away from crowded spaces and into the tranquility and beauty of nature, specifically the Berkshire hills. The imagery used – the wings, twilight, leafy crowns, rills and brooks – creates an evocative picture of a serene, pastoral landscape. This is further enhanced by the use of personification, giving the natural elements in the poem an almost human quality, evoking a sense of harmony between man and nature.
The poem's structure is consistent, maintaining a regular rhythm and rhyme scheme throughout, echoing the steady flow of the river described and creating a sense of movement. The tone is predominantly one of admiration and respect for nature, combined with a subtle melancholy for a lost connection with the environment. The poet also uses various literary devices, such as alliteration ("bracelet spun from mountain mist") and metaphor ("a pygmy's ship"), enhancing the richness of the descriptions. The repeated references to English flora and fauna, despite the poem's setting in the Berkshires, suggest a nostalgia for the poet's homeland, further adding depth to the overall theme of longing and escapism. The poem ends on a hopeful note, suggesting that despite the changes and loss, there is still beauty and poetry to be found in the natural world.
Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the voices of a narrator and characters as well. Unlike lyric poetry, which focuses on emotions and thoughts, narrative poetry is dedicated to storytelling, weaving tales that captivate readers through plot and character development.
Narrative poems are unique in their ability to combine the depth of storytelling with the expressive qualities of poetry. Here are some defining characteristics:
From ancient epics like "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" to more modern narrative poems, this form continues to engage readers by blending the art of storytelling with the beauty and rhythm of poetry.