THE swallow's cry that's so forlorn, By thrush and blackbird overpowered, Is like the hidden thorn On the rose-bush, deep-bowered: But when the song of every bird Is hushed, in Summer's lull profound, And all alone is heard Its little poignant sound, The piteous shrill of its sharp grief Seems, in the silence of the air, The thorn, without a leaf, On the wild rose-bush, bare! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MINOR POET by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE LITTLE FIRE IN THE WOODS by HAYDEN CARRUTH SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 1 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH BONNYBELL: THE BUTTERFLY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE DECISION (APRIL 14, 1861) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |