ONE bird, that ever with the wakening spring Was wont to sing, I wait, through all my woodlands, far and near, In vain to hear. The voice of many waters, silent long Breaks forth in song; Young breezes to the listening leaves outpour Their heavenly lore: A thousand other winged warblers sweet, Returning, greet Their fellows, and rebuild upon my breast The wonted nest. But unto me one fond familiar strain Comes not again -- A breath whose faintest echo, farthest heard, A mountain stirred. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MYSTERY OF PAIN by EMILY DICKINSON BALL'S BLUFF; A REVERIE by HERMAN MELVILLE MARY MAGDALEN by BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA BROTHER BENEDICT by ALFRED AUSTIN THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP; A LEGEND OF THANET by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |