Somewhere, the shadow sweeps upon its way
I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile!
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
I stood in a princely hall, and where
They're coming -- twenty or thirty, an out spun throng
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
Yes, Mary Ann, I freely grant,
Thinking of you, and all that was, and all that is to be
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Canary word: Present
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125,008 Literary Works • 672,827 Reviews
This master is perfect! I love on how you put all your effort and brain cells to made this! This is like heaven on earth! I really do love it! I hope this gets published someday in a book or newspaper or something that can go worldwide because this deserves it! Heh. I might just be exaggerating, but this masterpiece got me overwhelmed and I really like it! Wait no. I don't like it. I love it! Keep it up! Keep up the good work!
this masterpiece ** xD typo
greetings, RainbowPower! nice name by the way
I loved this poem. I can tell you have experience, or are just naturally gifted, in writing ballads. This was lyrical, freely flowing, and captured the very soul of the reader-- while exposing the soul of your character.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
I can find no fault in this, really.
'By this he knew she wept with waking eyes'
My favorite line by far. You have such a way with words!
I can't wait to read more from you-- I'd also be honored if you would review my first poem on YWS, Citadel (revised). I would definitely look up to your opinions on it!
(oh, also I noticed your comment, and if you'd like you can edit this piece without having to republish. Just use the 'edit' button to the right on the sidebar.)
Thank you for being a fellow artist!
~iron.n
Somewhere, the shadow sweeps upon its way
I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile!
I love it, I love it, and who shall dare
I stood in a princely hall, and where
They're coming -- twenty or thirty, an out spun throng
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
Yes, Mary Ann, I freely grant,
Thinking of you, and all that was, and all that is to be
this is the edit. Sorry about my poem not being finished