THE cuckoo bird has long been dumb, And owls instead and flitting jars Call out, call out for us to come, My Love and me, to count the stars; And into this wide orchard rove -- The whispering trees scarce give us room, They drop their petals on my Love And me beneath the apple bloom. And each pale petal is alive With dew of twilight from the sky, Where all the stars hang in their hive -- Such scores to count, my Love and I! The boughs below, the boughs above, We scatter, lest their twisted gloom Should stay the counting of my Love And me, beneath the apple bloom. And when the Mother Moon comes by And puts the little stars to bed, We count, my timid Love and I, The pretty apple stars instead; Until at last all lights remove, And dark sleep, dropping on the combe, Fastens the eyelids of my Love And me beneath the apple bloom. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEN COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE SANTAYANA A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET GOD'S GRANDEUR by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS WINDSOR FOREST by ALEXANDER POPE AVE ATQUE VALE; IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |