IN the wood, the verdure's shooting, Joy-oppress'd, like some fair maiden; Yet the sun laughs sweetly downward: "Welcome, young spring, rapture-laden!" Nightingale! I hear thee also, Piping, blissful-sad and lonely, Sobbing tones and long-protracted, And thy song of love is only! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO CHLOE WHO FOR HIS SAKE WISHED HERSELF YOUNGER by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT THE SNOWING OF THE PINES' by THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING by WALT WHITMAN SOURCE by KENNETH SLADE ALLING SONNET: 2 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |