THE nest is built, the song hath ceas'd: The minstrel joineth in the feast, So singeth not. The poet's verse, Crippled by Hymen's household curse, Follows no more its hungry quest. Well if Love's feathers line the nest. Yet blame not that beside the fire Love hangeth up his unstrung lyre! How sing of hope when Hope hath fled, Joy whispering lip to lip instead? Or how repeat the tuneful moan When the Obdurate's all my own? Love, like the lark, while soaring sings: Wouldst have him spread again his wings? What careth he for higher skies Who on the heart of harvest lies, And finds both sun and firmament Clos'd in the round of his content? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SMOKE IN WINTER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE ELDER WOMAN'S SONG: 1, FR. KING LEAR'S WIFE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE AMERICAN BLACK (A STUDY IN RACE CONSCIOUSNESS) by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE DESPAIR; ODE by CHARLES COTTON |