The trees are ripe with yellow birds, I vow, Perched close and drowsy on their April bough; Fat songsters, pour for me your sour-sweet notes, Dripping and warm from out your golden throats! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTING AT MORNING by ROBERT BROWNING CALYPSO WATCHING THE OCEAN by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON HYMN OF THE WEST by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN SONNET: BARBERRIES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL THE HEATH-COCK by JOANNA BAILLIE THE SECOND BROTHER; ACT 1, SCENE 2 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |