WHEN I shall come one evening to God's house on the hill, I ask no singing angels by lintel or window-sill, Nor any harp or cithern, but only the wild song The thrush and the blackbird sang when I was young. Give me no fadeless Summer and no unwithering wreath, But the year in its seasons and new life after death, And in the heart of Winter the joys yet to be, And the blackbird singing on a rime-pale tree. O Paradise skies, be cloudy sometimes lest I should pine For the soft mists and raining in that wild land of mine, And the blackbird singing bravely amid the dripping boughs, And the thrush with his talking of a love-lit house. I should miss, 'mid the tuning of the high heavenly choir, The song of the blackbird telling my heart's desire, Amid the joy and glory and the old world made new, The thirst for the blackbird would break my heart in two. I think where I'll be going the Lord will not forget The joy He gave His people; sure He'll remember yet! He'll keep a cloud, a raining upon the blue and gold, And the thrush and the blackbird their song in the cold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIDNIGHT-BY THE OPEN WINDOW by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BARS FIGHT, AUGUST 28, 1746 by LUCY TERRY THE LOOSED DRYAD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET RENUNCIATION by MATHILDE BLIND THE COLOSSI OF THE PLAIN by MATHILDE BLIND |