(For Kenton)
An iron hand has stilled the throats
That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee
And dammed the flood of silver notes
That drenched the world in melody.
The blosmy apple boughs are yearning
For their wild choristers' returning,
But no swift wings flash through the tree.
Ye that were glad and fleet and strong,
Shall Silence take you in her net?
And shall Death quell that radiant song
Whose echo thrills the meadow yet?
Burst the frail web about you clinging
And charm Death's cruel heart with singing
Till with strange tears his eyes are wet.
The scented morning of the year
Is old and stale now ye are gone.
No friendly songs the children hear
Among the bushes on the lawn.
When babies wander out a-Maying
Will ye, their bards, afar be straying?
Unhymned by you, what is the dawn?
Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.
Above the stars is set your nest.
Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly
And in the trees of Heaven rest.
And little children in their dreaming
Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming
And smile, by your clear music blest.
I LIKE THIS POEM AND IS IT OKAY TO PRINT THEM I ESPECIALLY LIKE TREES BUT I WOULD LIKE TO PRINT COPIES SO THAT I CAN KEEP THEM IN MY SPECIAL FOLDER AND TAKE THEM TO WORK TO READ. THANK YOU
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the imagery presented and provoked within these few choice words.