06 November 2013

The Birds of April - A May 1854 Poem

Original Poetry written for the Sunbury American.
Gloomily the dawn is breaking
Through the clouds of misty sleet,
Angry winds, the casement shaking
'Gainst the windows rudely best;
Earth Reeks with the chilling shower,
Fields are patch-worked o'er with snow,
Trees are leafless, scarce a flower
Or a blossom dares to blow.
Hark! from ice barked branches ringing,
Comes sweet music to the ear,
Birds with joyous notes are singing
Mating praises loud and clear;
Mingling with the tempest's rushing
Through the boughs so cold and bare,
Softly as though it were gushing
Through a rose-perfumed air.
Joyfully when northward winging
From a mild and sunny chase,
Where rich odors wide are flinging
Every mange tree and home.
They thought not of snow flakes sending
Dampness through their plumage bright,
Not of wintry rain descending
On them shelterless by night.
Trees with blossoms whitened over,
Leafy canopies of green.
Violets gemming fields of clover
Where bright waters flow between,
Warmest sunshine softly beaming
Over valley, hill and bourne
Scarlet bowers with beauty teeming,
Oft had welcomed their return.
Though the scene has changed so sadly,
Bly tho these birdlings are and gay,
Each his wild note carols gladly,
As at dawn of summer's day'
Not a plaintive sound revealing
Discontent on fear, or pain
All these sufferings concealing
In that sweetly swelling strain.
Soulless warbling little creatures,
Seeming made for sunny hours,
Ye are truly solemn teachers
To these wayward hearts of ours,
That oft faint with timid weakness
When misfortune's darts are hurled,
And refuse to bear with meekness
All the trials of this world.
Sunbury, Penna.
May 27, 1854. Sunbury American 7(9): 1, new series.