Treasure Island

Amos Bronson Alcott

(29 November 1799 – 4 March 1888 / Wolcutt, Connecticutt)

Proem IV


The April rains are past, the frosts austere,
The flowers are hungering for the genial sun,
The snow 's dissolved, the merry birds are here,
And rural labors now are well begun.
Hither, from the disturbing, noisy Court
I 've flown to this sequestered, quiet scene,
To meditate on Love and Love's disport
Mid these smooth pastures and the meadows green.
Sure 't were no fault of mine, no whispering sin,
If these coy leaves he sends me seem to speak
All that my heart, caressing, folds within;
Nor if I sought to smother, my flushed cheek
Would tell too plainly what I cannot hide,
Fond fancy disenchant nor set aside.

Submitted: Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Proem IV by Amos Bronson Alcott )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. INCONSTANT LOVE 10 WORD, Beryl Dov
  2. HAIKU...The Good Die Young, Ken e Hall
  3. I Know, Lyn Paul
  4. Those Who Know, Monk E. Biz
  5. peaches on the side, Mandolyn ...
  6. i could have made s'mores, Mandolyn ...
  7. Song: State of Fear, Dave SmithWhite
  8. there's an element in the room, Mandolyn ...
  9. Goodbye 2014, Michael McParland
  10. Holding Moments In Cupped Hands, RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]