Sweet child, thou wast my bird by day, My bird that never failed in song; That on my bosom wast a bee, And layst there all night long: No more I'll hear thy voice at noon, For Death has pierced thee with a thorn; No more thou'lt sleep upon my breast, And trample it at morn. Then break, oh break, poor empty cage, The bird is dead, thy use is done; And die, poor plant, for your sweet bee Is gone, for ever gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES FROM THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE by MATTHEW ARNOLD NATURA NATURANS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH MOTLEY: MUSIC by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THREE FRIENDS OF MINE: 5; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AFTER THE BURIAL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL MUSIC, FR. TWELFTH NIGHT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |