From the dawn of spring till the year grows hoary, Nothing is new that is done or said, The leaves are telling the same old story -- "Budding, bursting, dying, dead." And ever and always the wild bird's chorus Is "coming, building, flying, fled." Never the round earth roams or ranges Out of her circuit, so old, so old, And the smile o' the sun knows but these changes -- Beaming, burning, tender, cold, As Spring time softens or Winter estranges The mighty heart of this orb of gold. From our great sire's birth to the last morn's breaking There were tempest, sunshine, fruit and frost, And the sea was calm or the sea was shaking His mighty main like a lion crossed, And ever this cry the heart was making -- Longing, loving, losing, lost. Forever the wild wind wanders, crying, Southerly, easterly, north and west, And one worn song the fields are sighing, "Sowing, growing, harvest, rest," And the tired thought of the world, replying Like an echo to what is last and best, Murmurs -- "Rest." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE SHADE OF PO CHU-I by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS MIDWINTER BLUES by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES THE MARRIAGE VOW by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE LONG HILL by SARA TEASDALE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 48. AL-WADOOD by EDWIN ARNOLD WHO KNOWS WHERE BEAUTY LIES? by AGNES STEWART BECK IN REFERENCE TO HER CHILDREN, 23 JUNE, 1659 by ANNE BRADSTREET SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 25 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THESE POPULATIONS by EDWARD CARPENTER |