WHEN I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon, There was in their tiny tune A dying fetch like broken words, When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon. When he, too, scanned the love-birds On entering there that day, 'Twas as if he had nought to say Of his long journey citywards, When he, too, scanned the love-birds, On entering there that day. And billed and billed the love-birds, As 'twere in fond despair At the stress of silence where Had once been tones in tenor thirds, And billed and billed the love-birds As 'twere in fond despair. O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me, As I learnt what was to be, And knew my life was broke in sherds! O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOUSES OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE DANTE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT FOURTH BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION BEFORE MARCHING, AND AFTER (IN MEMORIAM F.W.G.) by THOMAS HARDY IN TIME OF 'THE BREAKING OF NATIONS' by THOMAS HARDY |