WINTER is here, And the music gone, But the bird in my breast Goes singing on. Often he sings In a sweet half-hour What is told in a year By star and flower. Wrinkled and grey By the touch of time, I am young if I lend My heart to rhyme. Stay, if you can, Little bird of blue, Till I get me to bed With dark and dew. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL 1914: 5. THE SOLDIER by RUPERT BROOKE THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) THE FEILIRE OF ADAMNAN by ADAMNAN CYNTHIA SPORTING by PHILIP AYRES TWELVE SONNETS: 9. WEARINESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PARODY OF A SHROPSHIRE LAD by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |