- Sing on by fane and forest old,
- By tombs and cottage eaves,
- And tell the waste of coming flowers,
- The weed of noming leaves;
- The same sweet song that o'er the birth
- Of earliest blossoms rang,
- And caught its music from the hymn
- The stars of morning sang.
- It hailed the radient path of Spring,
- By stream and valley fair,
- And o'er the earth's green hill-tops, when
- No stop but here was there;
- And like the laurel's gift of green,
- The violet's depth of blue,
- It has survived a thousands thrones,
- And yet the song is new.
- Now as we heard it in the years
- Whose memories still are young,
- When life's first rainbow o'er the path
- That visioned light has melted long,
- From hearts whose hopes have met
- The shower and shadow; but your strains
- Are loved and trusted yet.
- They some when sunset's dying lines,
- Or morning's waking smiles
- Light up the mountain's rocky shrines,
- The lonely forest aisles.
- Our souls, from all their early store,
- Have kept one answering tone
- Of joy, to greet each gushing song
- With gladness like its own.
- There have been harps among us strung
- It seemed beside "the tree
- Of life," where all the flowers we sought,
- Or dreamt of, yet might be;
- But early fell the hush of death
- On each unwearied string,
- That caught, though from afar, the dew
- Of everlasting Spring.
- O blest in true and tearless love!
- O free of earth and air!
- For whom the past has no regret,
- The all to come no care!
- Still, from its Summers far away,
- To the worn heart, ye bring
- Its early store of love and hope
- Sweet prophet birds of Spring!
History and Legacy of Wild Birds Including Historic Ornithology and Other Topics of Interest
06 November 2013
The Birds of Spring - An 1859 Poem
Labels:
poetry