I sometimes have strange fancies in the Spring. I think the birds we hear—sweet, fleeting birds— Have stole from poet-hearts the songs they sing Ere poet-lips have shaped them into words. I think the frail white flowers on my way Are sweet lost thoughts or dreams that are astray; And all the poppies that are frail and red, I think are tears some broken heart has shed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DAY IN BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD TO A POET, WHO WOULD HAVE ME PRAISE CERTAIN BAD POETS, IMITATORS ... by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SONNET: 129 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ROCOCO by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE A POEM OF SPRING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE by W. H. B. |