Out on the waste, a little lonely bird, I flit and I sing; My breast is yellow as sunshine, and light as the wind my wing. The golden gorse me shelters, in the tufted grass is my nest, And @3Sweet, sweet, sweet the world@1, though the wind blow east or west. The harebells chime their music, the canna floats white in the breeze: But as for me, I flit to and fro and I sing at my ease. When the thyme is dripping with dew, and the hill-wind beareth along The pungent scent of the gale, loudly I sing my morning song. When the sun beats on the gorse, the broom, and the budding heather, I flit from spray to spray, and my the golden weather. When the moor-fowl sink to their rest, and the sky is soft rose-red, I sing of the crescent moon and the single star overhead. Out on the waste, out on the waste, I flit all day as I sing, @3Sweet, sweet, sweet is the world -- dear world -- how beautiful everything!@1 Only a little lonely bird that loveth the moorland waste, And little perhaps of the joy of the world is that which I taste; But out on the wild, free moorlands or the gold gorse-boughs I swing, And @3Sweet, sweet, sweet the world; oh, sweet! ah, sweet!@1 the song that I sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: THE FIG TREE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ALMANZOR & ALMAHIDE, OR THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA: PART 2. EPILOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LOW-BACKED CAR by SAMUEL LOVER TIPPERARY: 4. BY OUR OWN A. E. HOUSMAN by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS INSCRIPTIONS: 3 by MARK AKENSIDE |