SINGING in the rain, robin? Rippling out so fast All thy flute-like notes, as if This singing were thy last! After sundown, too, robin? Though the fields are dim, And the trees grow dark and still, Dripping from leaf and limb. 'T is heart-broken music, -- That sweet, faltering strain, -- Like a mingled memory, Half ecstasy, half pain. Surely thus to sing, robin, Thou must have in sight Beautiful skies behind the shower, And dawn beyond the night. Would thy faith were mine, robin! Then, though night were long, All its silent hours should melt Their sorrow into song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT THE ZOO IN SPAIN by CLARENCE MAJOR THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE by HENRY HOWARD TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 24 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |