Nature and Poetry
Is the tongue dumb, and thoughts bent to despair,
Or is the inner ear of the spirit impaired?
Far off, stomping crowds, roars of metal speed —
All heavy machinery that make Earth bleed —
Announce the cacophonous march of Progress.
Nature, let me escape the modern mess!
Still silence, and though leaves rustled above
They did not whisper, nor conjure my love.
Halt! Drop the moan, melancholy guest —
Look! A robin, with a new song in its breast.
It tuned its throat, and, quick as it begun,
It flew off the branch, and on towards the sun.
A leafy den did you return to, now warm
With familiarity, and no chance of harm:
A little nest, under a sun-sparkled dome.
What happy chirps must welcome you home!
Caught in your beak, a sweet gift or two
To be shared among your featherless crew.
