Allegra

I would more natures were like thine,
That never casts a glance before,
Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
So lavishly to all dost pour,
That we who drink forget to pine,
And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;
With sunward instinct thou dost rise,
And, leaving clouds below at strife,
Gazest undazzled at the skies,
With all their blazing splendors rife,
A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours
Nursed, laughing, with the milk of Mirth;
Some influence more gay than ours
Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,
As if thy natal stars were flowers
That shook their seeds round thee on earth.

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,
Wast cradled like an Indian child;
All pleasant winds from south and west
With lullabies thine ears beguiled,
Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,
Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.

Thine every fancy seems to borrow
A sunlight from thy childish years,
Making a golden cloud of sorrow,
A hope-lit rainbow out of tears,-
Thy heart is certain of to-morrow,
Though 'yond to-day it never peers.

I would more natures were like thine,
So innocently wild and free,
Whose sad thoughts, even, leap and shine,
Like sunny wavelets in the sea,
Making us mindless of the brine,
In gazing on the brilliancy.

by James Russell Lowell

Comments (6)

It is a great poem 10+++++++++
This poem is an outstanding poem. Reading such a lovely poem as poem of the day motivates mind automatically. Heart's bright beat nourishes natural life. Brilliant expression is witnessed. All pleasant winds from south and west with lullabies thine ears beguiled. We deeply and affectionately appreciate poet's effort for penning this poem...10
I agree to a point- -a sunny, cheerful, optimistic outlook makes many days with their itty bitty annoyances a better day- -however- - ] Whose sad thoughts, even, leap and shine, / Like sunny wavelets in the sea, /Making us mindless of the brine, [- - - - - one must feel the depth of sorrow or righteous anger or frankly one could be rightfully called a blooming idiot
Such a great write by James Russell Lowell👍👍👍
A poem if it has survived time, it becomes immortal. In most times, the poet est mort (is dead already) and his-/her poem becomes immortal. This poem is most beautiful and has an excellent flow n rhyming ends. Ro JRL´s family: Congratulations being chosen as The Classic Poem Of The Day! A magnificently created. Myriad of 10´s
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