Under the greening willow Wanders a golden cry; Oriole April up in the world With morning day goes by. Out of the virgin quiet Like an awakening sigh, With the wild, wild heart forever A journeyer am I. We are the wind's own brothers, Sorrow and joy and I; But thou art the hope of morrows That shall be by and by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BLACK RIDERS: 38 by STEPHEN CRANE MY AIN COUNTRIE by MARY LEE DEMAREST ALASKA by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN by AESOP WOODBINES IN OCTOBER by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |