THE chough and crow to roost are gone, The owl sits on the tree, The hush'd wind wails with feeble moan, Like infant charity. The wild-fire dances on the fen, The red star sheds its ray; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Both child and nurse are fast asleep, And closed is every flower, And winking tapers faintly peep High from my lady's bower; Bewilder'd hinds with shorten'd ken Shrink on their murky way; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! It is our op'ning day. Nor board nor garner own we now, Nor roof nor latched door, Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow To bless a good man's store; Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, And night is grown our day; Uprouse ye then, my merry men! And use it as ye may. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ILLINOIS FARMER by CARL SANDBURG A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE SONG FOR THE LUDDITES by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A LITANY OF ATLANTA by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS FROM A YOUNG WOMAN TO AN OLD OFFICER WHO COURTED HER by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST IN PRAISE OF OLD AGE by ANAXANDRIDES LINES WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |