THE chough and crow to roost are gone, The owl sits on the tree, The hush'd wind wails with feeble moan, Like infant charity. The wild-fire dances on the fen, The red star sheds its ray; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Both child and nurse are fast asleep, And closed is every flower, And winking tapers faintly peep High from my lady's bower; Bewilder'd hinds with shorten'd ken Shrink on their murky way; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door, Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow To bless a good man's store; Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, And night is grown our day; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! And use it as ye may. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ANCIENT PROVERB by WILLIAM BLAKE TO THE THAWING WIND by ROBERT FROST PALINODE; AUTUMN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL FOR THE BED AT KELMSCOTT by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) TO MR. BARBAULD, WITH A MAP OF THE LAND OF MATRIMONY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH; ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS POEM, 'PETER BELL' by BERNARD BARTON WE GATHER BACK by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 16 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |