A BRAVE little bird that fears not God, A voice that breaks from the snow-wet clod With prophecy of sunny sod, Set thick with wind-waved goldenrod. From the first bare clod in the raw, cold spring, From the last bare clod, when fall winds sting, The farm-boy hears his brave song ring, And work for the time is a pleasant thing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHANSON D'AUTOMNE by PAUL VERLAINE ON CATULLUS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO MRS. AIKIN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE BOTTOM DRAWER by AMELIA EDITH HUDDLESTON BARR VERSES TO AN INFANT by BERNARD BARTON SPLENDID ISOLATION; A MORAL FROM LEXINTON, 1775 by KATHARINE LEE BATES |