The ox is all as happy in his stall As when he lowed i' the Summer's yellow eve, Browsing the king-cup slopes; but no reprieve Is left for thee, save thy sweet madrigal, Poor Robin! and severer days will fall. Bethink thee well of all yon frosted sward, The orchard-path so desolate and hard, And meadow-runnels, with no voice at all! Then feed with me, poor warbler, household bird, And glad me with thy song so sadly timed, And be on thankful ears thy lay conferr'd; So, till her latest rhyme my muse hath rhymed, Thy voice shall with a pleasant thrill be heard, And with a poet's fear when twigs are lim'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MATERNITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BALLROOM DARK by CLARENCE MAJOR THE GUARDIAN ANGEL (A PICTURE AT FANO) by ROBERT BROWNING LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE TRIUMPH OF TIME by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE IT'S HARD TO SAY by BERTON BRALEY BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS: BOOK 2. THE FOURTH SONG by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |