OF A plaintive note, and long; 'Tis a note no human throat could sing, No harp with its dulcet golden string,— Nor lute, nor lyre with liquid ring, Is sweet as the robin's song. MUSIC, music with throb and swing, He sings for love of the season When the days grow warm and long, For the beautiful God-sent reason That his breast was born for song. Calling, calling so fresh and clear, Through the song-sweet days of May; Warbling there, and whistling here, He swells his voice on the drinking ear, On the great, wide, pulsing atmosphere Till his music drowns the day. He sings for love of the season When the days grow warm and long, For the beautiful God-sent reason That his breast was born for song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 1. SUNRISE IN THE TROPICS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON A CERTAIN CRITIC by AMY LOWELL MY LIGHT WITH YOURS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COLUMBUS CHENEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |