FROM a low birch-tree just outside my window, Here in the wind-fresh green New Hampshire country; All through the day, and even at the nightfall, Cheery, distinct, his heart a home for hope, His throat full swollen with desire of music, A little ground-robin sits and sings, Symbol of summer, neighbor dear to me. I never hear his note in other places; But when June comes, and I return to live Among the birches and memorial pines, Lo, faithful to the tryst, alert and buoyant, His strain familiar greets my welcoming soul, And seems the type of all time-keeping things, Rebuking chance and change. Illusion sweet Uprises with the sound; of all the birds I know, this songster speaks most plain to me, Making impermanence a very myth. So carol on, ground-robin! each green year I listen for you; it would be a grief Beyond mere words, some June, some fragrant morrow, To sit and hearken by the open window In vain; for in a flood of fond regret Would come a sense of loss, of unrequited Love, of faith broken at length, of fickle Friendship, and joy too beautiful to last: Sing on, ground-robin, sing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BATTLE-FIELD by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT MONADNOC by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE LAND O' THE LEAL by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE A LEAVE-TAKING by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS by LUCY AIKEN WOMEN'S WAR THOUGHTS by MARY HUNTER AUSTIN HOW DOES THE RAIN COME? by CHARLES ROLLIN BALLARD |