THE robin laughed in the orange-tree: "Ho, windy North, a fig for thee: While breasts are red and wings are bold And green trees wave us globes of gold, Time's scythe shall reap but bliss for me -- Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree. Burn, golden globes in leafy sky, My orange-planets: crimson I Will shine and shoot among the spheres (Blithe meteor that no mortal fears) And thrid the heavenly orange-tree With orbits bright of minstrelsy. If that I hate wild winter's spite -- The gibbet trees, the world in white, The sky but gray wind over a grave -- Why should I ache, the season's slave? I'll sing from the top of the orange-tree Gramercy, winter's tyranny. I'll south with the sun, and keep my clime; My wing is king of the summer-time; My breast to the sun his torch shall hold; And I'll call down through the green and gold Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me, Bestir thee under the orange-tree." TAMPA, FLORIDA, 1877. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIVE AND HELP LIVE by EDWIN MARKHAM CITIES OF THE PLAIN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MEMORIAL VERSES by MATTHEW ARNOLD IMMORTALS by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN MY LITTLE TASK by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE THREE PLEASURES by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX FOUR EPISTLES: MIRACLE AT THE FEAST OF PENTECOST: 3 by JOHN BYROM |