The rooks are cawing up and down the trees! Among their nests they caw. O sound I treasure, Ripe as old music is, the summer's measure, Sleep at her gossip, sylvan mysteries, With prate and clamour to give zest of these- In rune I trace the ancient law of pleasure, Of love, of all the busy-ness of leisure, With dream on dream of never-thwarted ease. O homely birds, whose cry is harbinger Of nothing sad, who know not anything Of sea-birds' loneliness, of Procne's strife, Rock round me when I die! So sweet it were To die by open doors, with you on wing Humming the deep security of life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE BLIND MICE by MOTHER GOOSE ODE; SUNG BY THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS by W. T. ADAMS A MARLOW MADRIGAL by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY ABIDE WITH US by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR A NON-WANDER SONG by BERTON BRALEY THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |