A SUMMER'S morning that has but one voice; Five hundred stooks, like golden lovers, lean Their heads together, in their quiet way, And but one bird sings, of a number seen. It is the lark, that louder, louder sings, As though but this one thought possessed his mind: "You silent robin, blackbird, thrush, and finch, I'll sing enough for all you lazy kind!" And when I hear him at this daring task, "Peace, little bird," I say, "and take some rest; Stop that wild, screaming fire of angry song, Before it makes a coffin of your nest." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS EMPTY PURSE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE TWO MYSTERIES by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE TEARS by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE VETERAN SIRENS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON DRINKING SONG (4) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE |