I had no heart to write to thee in prose, The sadness in me sore demanded song; But the song came not, — laggard as the birds, That will not sing us back the little leaves. O winter of my heart — when comes the spring? I am sore weary of these deathlike days, This shroud unheaving of eternal snow, — O winter of my heart — when comes the spring? 'Tis time to answer, O nightingale, — 'Tis thine to sing the winter all away, Release the world from bondage, and bring back The sound of many waters and of trees, And little sleeping lives anumb with cold, — Yea! all the resurrection of the world. O winter of my heart! O nightingale! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 15 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON BUT NOT TO ME by SARA TEASDALE THE ROAD TO FRANCE by DANIEL MACINTYRE HENDERSON VETERAN SIRENS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SAPPHO AND PHAON: 2. THE TEMPLE OF CHASTITY by MARY DARBY ROBINSON ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 71 by PHILIP SIDNEY NORTHERN EARTH MOOD by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. |