Poems of Sidney Lanier/Tampa Robins

robin laughed in the orange-tree: “Ho, windy North, a fig for thee: While breasts are red and wings are bold And green trees wave us globes of gold, Time’s scythe shall reap but bliss for me     —Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.

Burn, golden globes in leafy sky, My orange-planets: crimson I Will shine and shoot among the spheres (Blithe meteor that no mortal fears) And thrid the heavenly orange-tree With orbits bright of minstrelsy.

If that I hate wild winter’s spite— The gibbet trees, the world in white, The sky but gray wind over a grave— Why should I ache, the season’s slave? I’ll sing from the top of the orange-tree ‘Gramercy, winter’s tyranny.’

I’ll south with the sun, and keep my clime; My wing is king of the summer-time; My breast to the sun his torch shall hold; And I’ll call down through the green and gold ‘Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me, Bestir thee under the orange-tree.’”