SINGING in the rain, robin? Rippling out so fast All thy flute-like notes, as if This singing were thy last! After sundown, too, robin? Though the fields are dim, And the trees grow dark and still, Dripping from leaf and limb. 'T is heart-broken music, -- That sweet, faltering strain, -- Like a mingled memory, Half ecstasy, half pain. Surely thus to sing, robin, Thou must have in sight Beautiful skies behind the shower, And dawn beyond the night. Would thy faith were mine, robin! Then, though night were long, All its silent hours should melt Their sorrow into song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE A POEM AGAINST THE WAR IN VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WINGED MAN by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE CHILDREN by CHARLES MONROE DICKINSON A SOLILOQUY; OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER by WALTER HARTE |