IN the very spring, Nay, in the bluster of March, or haply before, The bluebird comes, and, a-wing Or alight, seems evermore For song that is sweet and soft. His footprints oft Make fretwork along the snow When the weather is bleak ablow, When his hardihood by cold is pinched full sore. Then deep in the fall, In the Indian-summer while, in the dreamy days, When the errant songsters all Grow slack in songful ways, You may hear his warble still By field or hill; Until, with an azure rush Of motion, music -- hush! He is off, he is mutely whelmed in the southern haze! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETTING A PURCHASE by KAREN SWENSON BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 83 by PHILIP SIDNEY ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE SUPPLIANTS: PRAYER FOR DELIVERANCE. CHORUS by AESCHYLUS |