WHEN I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon, There was in their tiny tune A dying fetch like broken words, When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon. When he, too, scanned the love-birds On entering there that day, 'Twas as if he had nought to say Of his long journey citywards, When he, too, scanned the love-birds, On entering there that day. And billed and billed the love-birds, As 'twere in fond despair At the stress of silence where Had once been tones in tenor thirds, And billed and billed the love-birds As 'twere in fond despair. O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me, As I learnt what was to be, And knew my life was broke in sherds! O, his speech that chilled the love-birds, And smote like death on me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: STATE'S ATTORNEY FALLAS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM by RICHARD ALDINGTON LONELY BURIAL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CLEAR AND COLDER; BOSTON COMMON by ROBERT FROST STREET-CRIES: 7. A SONG OF LOVE by SIDNEY LANIER |