YE little birds, that chant your love so loud, Your careless hearts are not so glad as mine, For he who sings because the sun doth shine Is robbed of joy by every murky cloud; And ye, sweet heralds of the summer crowd Of unremembered flowers, whose tints combine To light the meadows -- ye grow pale and pine, When by cold winds your radiant heads are bowed. From you, from all fair creatures of the earth, I do but gain the beauty that I give; Your form, your music, in my soul have birth, And in my very life your colours live; And when the sunlight fades, and ye depart, I hold your joy within my secret heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERITAGE by GWENDOLYN B. BENNETT THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND [NOVEMBER 19, 1620] by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE FEMALE CONVICT by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE COUNTY OF MAYO by THOMAS LAVELLE LOCHABER NO MORE by ALLAN RAMSAY BURNING STRAWPILES by EVA K. ANGLESBURG |