Like a clamorous flock of startled birds, All my memories swoop upon me, Swoop among the yellow foliage Of my heart, watching its bent alder-trunk In the purple foil of the waters of Regret That flow nearby in melancholy wise; They swoop, and then the horrid clamor, That a moist breeze calms as it rises, Dies gradually in the tree -- until At the end of a moment nothing more is heard, Nothing but the voice hymning the Absent One, Nothing but the voice -- the languishing voice -- Of the bird that was my Earliest Love, Singing still as on that earliest day; And in the sad magnificence of a moon That rises with pale solemnity, a Summer night, heavy and melancholy, Full of silence and obscurity, Lulls in the sky that a soft wind caresses The quivering tree and the weeping bird. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOUVENIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE ENAMEL GIRL by GENEVIEVE TAGGARD IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 106 by ALFRED TENNYSON GREAT FRIEND by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE ACHARNIANS: IN PRAISE OF THE POET by ARISTOPHANES |