ALL the trees with joy are shouting, All the birds are singing o'er us -- Tell me, who can be the leader In this green and forest chorus? Can it be the grey old plover, Wise nods evermore renewing? Or yon pedant, who is ever In such measured time coo-coo-ing? Can it be yon stork, the grave one, His director's airs betraying, And his long leg rattling loudly, Whilst the music's round him playing? No, the forest concert's leader In my own heart hath his station, All the while he's beating time there, -- Amor is his appellation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLUTION OF THE CHARADE IN THE MUSEUM FOR OCTOBER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MOUNT RUSHMORE by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN OLD THINGS by THOMAS T. BLEWETT PASSING HOURS by HELENA A. BOOTH STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDERSTORM by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |