Redbreast, early in the morning Dank and cold and cloudy grey, Wildly tender is thy music, Chasing angry thought away. My heart is not enraptured now, My eyes are full of tears, And constant sorrow on my brow Has done the work of years. It was not hope that wrecked at once The spirit's calm in storm, But a long life of solitude, Hopes quenched and rising thoughts subdued, A bleak November's calm. What woke it then? A little child Strayed from its father's cottage door, And in the hour of moonlight wild Laid lonely on the desert moor. I heard it then, you heard it too, And seraph sweet it sang to you; But like the shriek of misery That wild, wild music wailed to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUR OF DEATH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE by BEN JONSON MOTHER O' MINE by RUDYARD KIPLING CARMEN BELLICOSUM by GUY HUMPHREYS MCMASTER ANGEL OR WOMAN by THOMAS PARNELL |