Under the greening willow Wanders a golden cry; Oriole April up in the world With morning day goes by. Out of the virgin quiet Like an awakening sigh, With the wild, wild heart forever A journeyer am I. We are the wind's own brothers, Sorrow and joy and I; But thou art the hope of morrows That shall be by and by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 3. ESCAPE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER ODE INSCRIBED TO W.H. CHANNING by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE SNOW-STORM by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE HILL WIFE: HOUSE FEAR by ROBERT FROST AN ARCTIC VISION [JUNE 20, 1867] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE OLD MAN'S WISH by WALTER POPE |