The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire. Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher. The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.
Alfred Lord TennysonAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: english
- Born: August 6, 1809
- Died: October 6, 1892