In the forest bleak and lonely Nothing by the winds is stirred But one withered leaflet only, And beside it pipes a bird. Everything is dead or dying In my heart, save love alone; There it sings, but Autumn's sighing Drowns the music of each tone. Winter comes—the leaflet falleth, Love, too, dies amid the gloom; Little Bird! when spring-time calleth, Come and sing above my tomb! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BATTLE OF NASEBY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THESE ENDURE by MARION H. ADDINGTON ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A DIGIT OF THE MOON by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT VESPERS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN LOVE POEMS: 6 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |