WHENCE is it, that amazed I hear From yonder withered spray, This foremost morn of all the year, The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be proud Of such a favour shown, Am I selected from the crowd, To witness it alone? Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that I also long Have practised in the groves like thee, Though not like thee, in song? Or sing'st thou rather, under force Of some divine command, Commissioned to presage a course Of happier days at hand? Thrice welcome then! for many a long And joyless year have I, As thou to-day, put forth my song Beneath a wintry sky. But thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need'st to sing, To make even January charm, And every season Spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STREET WINDOW by CARL SANDBURG TREES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THREE GRAINS OF CORN; THE IRISH FAMINE by AMELIA BLANDFORD EDWARDS NEW YORK AT NIGHT by AMY LOWELL VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1883 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SUICIDE IN THE TRENCHES by SIEGFRIED SASSOON |