The trees are ripe with yellow birds, I vow, Perched close and drowsy on their April bough; Fat songsters, pour for me your sour-sweet notes, Dripping and warm from out your golden throats! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SUMMER'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW THE OCTOROON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON A CERTAIN CRITIC by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE COMING OF WAR: ACTAEON by EZRA POUND |