The Back Bay Fens
Through the Spring-thickened branches I see it floating. An ivory dome Headed to gold by the dim sun. It hangs against a white-misted sky.
And the swollen branches Open or cover it, As they blow in the wet wind.
Amy Lowell
Through the Spring-thickened branches I see it floating. An ivory dome Headed to gold by the dim sun. It hangs against a white-misted sky.
And the swollen branches Open or cover it, As they blow in the wet wind.
The speaker stands looking through a tree in early spring, catching a partial view of a pale dome in the distance. The new leaves are thick enough to half-hide it, and the thin sunlight turns its top faintly gold against a misty white sky.
Read the full summary