WHEN berries redden on the thorn, O that's the time my love was born! When leaves are scarlet in the vale, And all the feathered grasses pale, When humming wheels thrash out the corn, 'Twas then my pretty love was born. When hunters wind the merry horn By woodland ways and acres shorn; In darkening days when nests are chill, In silent days when birds are still— Except the lark, who sings for scorn Of wintry care—my love was born! O wailing month with tresses torn! O happy month no more forlorn! For thee, tho' earth lie mute below, In Heaven the trumpet winds shall blow, The rose of eve, the star of morn, Shall crown the month my love was born. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALIEN WOMEN; SONGKHLA, THAILAND by KAREN SWENSON A DREAM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BLACK RIDERS: 22 by STEPHEN CRANE THE AIM WAS SONG by ROBERT FROST THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS |