YE little birds, that chant your love so loud, Your careless hearts are not so glad as mine, For he who sings because the sun doth shine Is robbed of joy by every murky cloud; And ye, sweet heralds of the summer crowd Of unremembered flowers, whose tints combine To light the meadows -- ye grow pale and pine, When by cold winds your radiant heads are bowed. From you, from all fair creatures of the earth, I do but gain the beauty that I give; Your form, your music, in my soul have birth, And in my very life your colours live; And when the sunlight fades, and ye depart, I hold your joy within my secret heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE CHANGED WOMAN by LOUISE BOGAN STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 2. ILLINOIS by CLARENCE MAJOR ELEGY: THE GHOST WHOSE LIPS WERE WARM; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL |