WHEN the merry lark doth gild With his song the summer hours, And their nests the swallows build In the roofs and tops of towers, And the golden gorse-flower burns About the waste, And the maiden May returns With a pretty haste. Sing then, how merry are the times, The summer times, the spring times. Now from off his ashen stone The chilly midnight cricket crieth, And all merry birds are gone, And our dream of pleasure dieth. Now the once blue laughing sky Saddens into gray, And the frozen rivers sigh, Pining all away. Now how solemn are the times, The winter times, the night times. Yet be merry; all around Is through one vast change revolving: Even night, who lately frowned, Is in silver dawn dissolving. Earth will burst her fetters strange, And in spring grow free, All things in the world will change, Save my love to thee. Sing then, hopeful are all times— Summer, winter, spring times. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TREKKING THE HILLS OF NORTHERN THAILAND by KAREN SWENSON THE FLOOD OF YEARS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 11. THE LOVE-LETTER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN TO ONE WHO DIED LAST YEAR by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD |