. Through the year with birds and poets [poems]; . vely plumage we may wear Must these fair, pathetic creatures die ? Let the tawny squaws themselves with feathers, — we can wiser be. I beseech you, boatmen, do not fire ! Stain no more with blood the tranquil sea. Celia Thaxter. WINTER Thou singest alone on. the bare wintry hough,As if Spring, with its leaves, were around thee now ;And its voice, that was heard in the laughing rill,. And the breeze, as it whispered oer meadow and fell on thine ear, as it murmured alongTo join the sweet tide of thine own gushing
. Through the year with birds and poets [poems]; . vely plumage we may wear Must these fair, pathetic creatures die ? Let the tawny squaws themselves with feathers, — we can wiser be. I beseech you, boatmen, do not fire ! Stain no more with blood the tranquil sea. Celia Thaxter. WINTER Thou singest alone on. the bare wintry hough,As if Spring, with its leaves, were around thee now ;And its voice, that was heard in the laughing rill,. And the breeze, as it whispered oer meadow and fell on thine ear, as it murmured alongTo join the sweet tide of thine own gushing on, though its sweetness was lost on the the storm has not heeded thy song as it passed ;Yet its music awoke, in a heart that was near,A thought, whose remembrance will ever prove dear ;Though the brook may be frozen, though silent its the gales through the meadows no longer I felt, as my ear caught thy glad note of my heart in lif^s winter might carol like thee. The Winter Bird. —Jones Very. 272.
Size: 1335px × 1871px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauth, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidcu31924026403729
