It is birthday weather for you, dear soul? Is it fine your way, With tall moon-daisies alight, and the mole Busy, and elegant hares at play By meadow paths where once you would stroll In the flush of day? I fancy the beasts and flowers there beguiled By a visitation That casts no shadow, a friend whose mild Inquisitive glance lights with compassion, Beyond the tomb, on all of this wild And humbled creation. It's hard to believe a spirit could die Of such generous glow, Or to doubt that somewhere a bird-sharp eye Still broods on the capers of men below, A stern voice asks the Immortals why They should plague us so. Dear poet, wherever you are, I greet you. Much irony, wrong, Innocence you'd find here to tease or entreat you, And many the fate-fires have tempered strong, But none that in ripeness of soul could meet you Or magic of song. Great brow, frail flame -- gone. Yet you abide In the shadow and sheen, All the mellowing traits of a countryside That nursed your tragic-comical scene; And in us, warmer-hearted and brisker-eyed Since you have been. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOLDWING MOTH by CARL SANDBURG THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY BIRDS by NESTA HIGGINSON SKRINE GULLS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A LOVE SONNET by GEORGE WITHER |