ALL the trees with joy are shouting, All the birds are singing o'er us -- Tell me, who can be the leader In this green and forest chorus? Can it be the grey old plover, Wise nods evermore renewing? Or yon pedant, who is ever In such measured time coo-coo-ing? Can it be yon stork, the grave one, His director's airs betraying, And his long leg rattling loudly, Whilst the music's round him playing? No, the forest concert's leader In my own heart hath his station, All the while he's beating time there, -- Amor is his appellation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAWK by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 26 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING IN HOSPITAL: 28. DISCHARGED by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY SONNET: DANTE (1) by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI GOOD-BYE MY FANCY! by WALT WHITMAN TROPIC NIGHTFALL by ROBERT AVRETT |