WHEN I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon, There was in their tiny tune A dying fetch like broken words, When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon. When he, too, scanned the love-birds On entering there that day, 'Twas as if he had nought to say Of his long journey citywards, When he, too, scanned the love-birds, On entering there that day. And billed and billed the love-birds, As 'twere in fond despair At the stress of silence where Had once been tones in tenor thirds, And billed and billed the love-birds As 'twere in fond despair. O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me, As I learnt what was to be, And knew my life was broke in sherds! O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FETES GALANTES: ROMANCES SANS PAROLE, SELECTION by PAUL VERLAINE IN HOSPITAL: 3. INTERIOR by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS by ISAAC ROSENBERG POSSESSED by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT |