In the forest bleak and lonely Nothing by the winds is stirred But one withered leaflet only, And beside it pipes a bird. Everything is dead or dying In my heart, save love alone; There it sings, but Autumn's sighing Drowns the music of each tone. Winter comes—the leaflet falleth, Love, too, dies amid the gloom; Little Bird! when spring-time calleth, Come and sing above my tomb! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN OF THE EARTH by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) POLLY by WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS BEDOUIN [LOVE] SONG by BAYARD TAYLOR THE POET'S SOLILOQUY by E. M. AVERILL BLACKSMITH PAIN by OTTO JULIUS BIERBAUM MOONLIGHT IN SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD |