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TREES AND OTHER POEMS TO A BLACKBIRD AND HIS MATE WHO DIED IN THE SPRING

N 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. [ 56 ]