ONE bird I know, that haunts the blissful scene Where idling Spring renews her lavish wiles, And stores her gold, and countless tints of green To come with emerald step, and gracious smiles Some glad fresh morn:—but ah! my bird before Her train, with full, and strong impatient wing, Will bear the tidings to my very door, And I shall hear, deep stirred with wondering! My bird has caught the gentian-hue of skies That over-arched those orient isles he found; Has cloaked himself in such becoming guise, And touched his breast to musk rose teeming ground; He learned the low, sweet cadence of the wind That touched with unseen lip the golden reed, And in his warble audibly entwined The lingering lilt of zephyrs on the mead. When March is harsh, and blustering bends the bough Of leafless tree, with young buds still asleep, All unawares, some morning, and somehow, I know again my sluggish blood will leap, When on my ear the old familiar strain Will fall, and I shall catch a flash of blue, And know the gates of Paradise again Have open swung, and let my bluebird through. For after him will come the myriad throng Of varied joys, that lead to perfect June, The upland glades, and vales a-ring with song And meadows with a mantling bloom bestrewn, But oh! the gentle warble, first to steal Into our ear, gives joy no other brings. For winter-weary, every heart must feel A benediction, when the bluebird sings! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SLEEPY HOLLOW by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 72. THE CHOICE (2) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE STREET CHILDREN'S DANCE by MATHILDE BLIND SUPPLICATION by MARGARET H. BRANDON SONG OF THE BOOKWORM by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |