I WE are budding, Master, budding, We of your favourite tree; March drought and April flooding Arouse us merrily, Our stemlets newly studding; And yet you do not see! II We are fully woven for summer In stuff of limpest green, The twitterer and the hummer Here rest of nights, unseen, While like a long-roll drummer The nightjar thrills the treen. III We are turning yellow, Master, And next we are turning red, And faster then and faster Shall seek our rooty bed, All wasted in disaster! But you lift not your head. IV - 'I mark your early going, And that you'll soon be clay, I have seen your summer showing As in my youthful day; But why I seem unknowing Is too sunk in to say!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME by FRANCOIS VILLON A LILLIPUTIAN ODE ON THEIR MAJESTIES' ACCESSION by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) THE SAILOR; A ROMAIC BALLAD by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM CESAR FRANCK by JOSEPH AUSLANDER REASONABLE MELANCHOLY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT FIRST SNOW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: TO HENRY, LORD CLIFFORD by THOMAS CAMPION |