WILD bird, that wingest wide the glimmering moors, Whither, by belts of yellowing woods away? With pausing sunset thy wild heart allures Deep into dying day? Would that my heart, on wings like thine, could pass Where stars their light in rosy regions lose, -- A happy shadow o'er the warm brown grass, Falling with falling dews! Hast thou, like me, some true-love of thine own, In fairy lands beyond the utmost seas; Who there, unsolaced, yearns for thee alone, And sings to silent trees? O tell that woodbird that the Summer grieves, And the suns darken and the days grow cold; And, tell her, love will fade with fading leaves, And cease in common mould. Fly from the winter of the world to her! Fly, happy bird! I follow in thy flight, Till thou art lost o'er yonder fringe of fir In baths of crimson light. My love is dying far away from me. She sits and saddens in the fading west. For her I mourn all day, and pine to be At night upon her breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO GALLANT FRANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO A FRIEND by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE WILDERNESS TRANSFORMED by PHILIP DODDRIDGE THE COMING OF GOOD LUCK by ROBERT HERRICK |