WINTER is here, And the music gone, But the bird in my breast Goes singing on. Often he sings In a sweet half-hour What is told in a year By star and flower. Wrinkled and grey By the touch of time, I am young if I lend My heart to rhyme. Stay, if you can, Little bird of blue, Till I get me to bed With dark and dew. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FEARS IN SOLITUDE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SONNET OF HIS LADY IN HEAVEN by JACOPO DA LENTINO RECUERDO by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY UNDERWOODS: BOOK 2: 16. THE DEAREST FRIENDS ARE THE AULDEST FRIENDS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO A SKYLARK (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE CONFIDENT SCIENTIST by ALEXIS |