The ox is all as happy in his stall As when he lowed i' the Summer's yellow eve, Browsing the king-cup slopes; but no reprieve Is left for thee, save thy sweet madrigal, Poor Robin! and severer days will fall. Bethink thee well of all yon frosted sward, The orchard-path so desolate and hard, And meadow-runnels, with no voice at all! Then feed with me, poor warbler, household bird, And glad me with thy song so sadly timed, And be on thankful ears thy lay conferr'd; So, till her latest rhyme my muse hath rhymed, Thy voice shall with a pleasant thrill be heard, And with a poet's fear when twigs are lim'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HELEN OF TROY by SARA TEASDALE TO DANTE by VITTORIO AMEDEO ALFIERI SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE BIRD OF PARADISE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE HILL WIFE: HOUSE FEAR by ROBERT FROST CLOTHES DO BUT CHEAT AND COZEN US by ROBERT HERRICK SEVEN AGES OF MAN, FR. AS YOU LIKE IT by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |