FAIR little spirit of the woodland mazes, Thou liest sadly low, No more the purple vetch and star-eyed daisies Thy mating hymn shall know. No more the harebell by the silent river Shall bend her dainty ear, When nigh thou fliest, and her petals quiver With maiden joy to hear. No more to flit among the yellow mustard, Imperial thistle tops, And intertwining woodbine, thickly clustered With tendrils of wild hops. No more the dragon's darting course to follow O'er golden, sunlit sheaves; No more to catch, within the shady hollow, The dew from spangled leaves. No more above the scented rose to hover, Sipping its fragrant fee; No more to chase, across the billowy clover, The velvet-coated bee. What fatal stroke has torn the downy tinc-ture, Round thy once tuneful throat And pulseless bosom, where a deathly tinc-ture Dyes thy soft feathery coat? No gentle mate and thou shalt wing together, With tender chicks, your way, To sunnier southern fields, when autumn weather Chills the short northern day. Dead is the soul of love and song and laughter, That thrilled thy fragile breast, -- There is no more for thee, but dead hereafter Of unbegotten rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL FOOLS' CALENDER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COLUMBUS CHENEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE DAYS OF PRISMATIC COLOR by MARIANNE MOORE IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE |