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SILENCE instead of thy sweet song, my bird, | |
Which through the darkness of my winter days | |
Warbling of summer sunshine still was heard; | |
Mute is thy song, and vacant is thy place. | |
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The spring comes back again, the fields rejoice, | 5 |
Carols of gladness ring from every tree; | |
But I shall hear thy wild triumphant voice | |
No more: my summer song has died with thee. | |
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What didst thou sing of, O my summer bird? | |
The broad, bright, brimming river, whose swift sweep | 10 |
And whirling eddies by the home are heard, | |
Rushing, resistless, to the calling deep. | |
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What didst thou sing of, thou melodious sprite? | |
Pine forests, with smooth russet carpets spread, | |
Where een at noonday dimly falls the light, | 15 |
Through gloomy blue-green branches overhead. | |
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What didst thou sing of, O thou jubilant soul? | |
Ever-fresh flowers and never-leafless trees, | |
Bending great ivory cups to the control | |
Of the soft swaying orange-scented breeze. | 20 |
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What didst thou sing of, thou embodied glee? | |
The wide wild marshes with their clashing reeds | |
And topaz-tinted channels, where the sea | |
Daily its tides of briny freshness leads. | |
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What didst thou sing of, O thou wingëd voice? | 25 |
Dark, bronze-leaved oaks, with silver mosses crowned, | |
Where thy free kindred live, love, and rejoice, | |
With wreaths of golden jasmine curtained round. | |
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These didst thou sing of, spirit of delight! | |
From thy own radiant sky, thou quivering spark! | 30 |
These thy sweet southern dreams of warmth and light, | |
Through the grim northern winter drear and dark. | |
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