 | Poems (1867) |  |
156
THE SINGER.
How thick the grasses spring
In May! how sweetly ring
The woods with song of many birds! the note
In May! how sweetly ring
The woods with song of many birds! the note
That is of all most sweet,
Most varied, most complete,
Comes from a little bird of slender throat,
Most varied, most complete,
Comes from a little bird of slender throat,
The Nightingale, that sings
Through all the night, and flings
Upon the wood's dark breast her sweet lament.
Through all the night, and flings
Upon the wood's dark breast her sweet lament.
157
What! little bird, dost seek
To conquer with thy beak
The lyre's full ringing chords? be well content:
To conquer with thy beak
The lyre's full ringing chords? be well content:
A Minstrel to thy song
Long listened, lingering long;
A Prince a moment paused upon his way:
Long listened, lingering long;
A Prince a moment paused upon his way:
“Sweet, sweet!” they said, and then
Passed onwards, while again
Broke from the topmost bough thy thrilling lay.
Passed onwards, while again
Broke from the topmost bough thy thrilling lay.
What! thinkest thou to chain
The world? thou dost but strain
Thy slender throat, forgetful of its need,
The world? thou dost but strain
Thy slender throat, forgetful of its need,
Thou carest but to sing:
Yet who is found to bring,
To stay thy want, a berry or a seed?
Yet who is found to bring,
To stay thy want, a berry or a seed?
They praise thy song, and yet
They pass thee, and forget;
None feedeth thee save He who gave thy strain.
They pass thee, and forget;
None feedeth thee save He who gave thy strain.
158
Oh! why wilt thou prolong
Thy sweet, thy mournful song,
Unwearied, while the world to sleep is fain!
Thy sweet, thy mournful song,
Unwearied, while the world to sleep is fain!
When summer comes, unstirred
Are all the leaves, the bird
Is silent, while her callow young are tended.
Are all the leaves, the bird
Is silent, while her callow young are tended.
When Winter comes, the leaves
Fall off, and no one grieves;
The singer dies, her little song is ended!
Fall off, and no one grieves;
The singer dies, her little song is ended!
November, 1862.
| Poems (1867) | |