From: Dedicatory Ode
I will not try the reach again,
I will not set my sail alone,
To moor a boat bereft of men
At Yarnton's tiny docks of stone.
But I will sit beside the fire,
And put my hand before my eyes,
And trace, to fill my heart's desire,
The last of all our Odysseys.
The quiet evening kept her tryst:
Beneath an open sky we rode,
And passed into a wandering mist
Along the perfect Evenlode.
The tender Evenlode that makes
Her meadows hush to hear the sound
Of waters mingling in the brakes,
And binds my heart to English ground.
A lovely river, all alone,
She lingers in the hills and holds
A hundred little towns of stone,
Forgotten in the western wolds.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (From: Dedicatory Ode by Hilaire Belloc )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- The Friday Night Fights, Ronald Wallace
- 'You Can't Write a Poem About McDonald's', Ronald Wallace
- King of Pop, Rohit Sapra
- Scamp, Phil Soar
- Blessings, Ronald Wallace
- heart, laxami Cards
- The Facts Of Life, Ronald Wallace
- The Fat of the Land, Ronald Wallace
- Cello, Phil Soar
- In Praise of Winter, Ronald Wallace