Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341314" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Spring Carol</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>Blithe friend! blithe throstle! Is it thou,<br>Whom I at last again hear sing,<br>Perched on thy old accustomed bough,<br>Poet-prophet of the Spring?<br>Yes! Singing as thou oft hast sung,<br>I can see thee there among<br>The clustered branches of my leafless oak;<br>Where, thy plumage gray as it,<br>Thou mightst unsuspected sit,<br>Didst thou not thyself betray<br>With thy penetrating lay,<br>Swelling thy mottled breast at each triumphant stroke.<br>Wherefore warble half concealed,<br>When thy notes are shaft and shield,<br>And no hand that lives would slay<br>Singer of such a roundelay?<br>Telling of thy presence thus,<br>Be nor coy nor timorous!<br>Sing loud! Sing long!<br>And let thy song<br>Usurp the air 'twixt earth and sky:<br>Let it soar and sink and rally,<br>Ripple low along the valley,<br>Break against the fir-trees high,<br>Ofttimes pausing, never dying,<br>While we lean where fancy bids,<br>Listening, with half-closèd lids,<br>Unto the self-same chant, most sweet, most satisfying.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II<br>Where hast thou been all the dumb winter days,<br>When neither sunlight was nor smile of flowers,<br>Neither life, nor love, nor frolic,<br>Only expanse melancholic,<br>With never a note of thy exhilarating lays?<br>But, instead, the raven's croak,<br>Sluggish dawns and draggled hours,<br>Gusts morose and callous showers,<br>Underneath whose cutting stroke<br>Huddle the seasoned kine, and even the robin cowers.<br>Wast thou asleep in some snug hollow<br>Of my hybernating oak,<br>Through the dripping weeks that follow<br>One another slow, and soak<br>Summer's extinguished fire and autumn's drifting smoke?<br>Did its waking awake thee,<br>Or thou it with melody?<br>Or together did ye both<br>Start from winter's sleep and sloth,<br>And the self-same sap that woke<br>Bole and branch, and sets them budding,<br>Is thy throat with rapture flooding?<br>Or, avoiding icy yoke,<br>When golden leaves floated on silver meres,<br>And pensive Autumn, keeping back her tears,<br>Nursed waning Summer in her quiet lap,<br>Didst thou timely pinions flap,<br>Fleeing from a land of loss,<br>And, with happy mates, across<br>Ocean's restless ridges travel,<br>To that lemon-scented shore<br>Where, beneath a deep-domed sky,<br>Carven of lapis-lazuli,<br>Golden sunlight evermore<br>Glistens against golden gravel,<br>Nor ever a snowflake falls, nor rain-clouds wheel and ravel;<br>Clime where I wandered once among<br>Ruins old with feelings young,<br>Whither too I count to fly<br>When my songful seasons die,<br>And with the self-same spell which, first when mine,<br>Intensified my youth, to temper my decline.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III<br>Wherefore dost thou sing, and sing?<br>Is it for sheer joy of singing?<br>Is it to hasten lagging Spring,<br>Or greet the Lenten lilies through turf and turf upspringing?<br>Dost thou sing to earth or sky?<br>Never comes but one reply:<br>Carol faint, carol high,<br>Ringing, ringing, ringing!<br>Are those iterated trills<br>For the down-looking daffodils,<br>That have strained and split their sheath,<br>And are listening underneath?<br>Or but music's prompting note,<br>Whereunto the lambs may skip?<br>Haply dost thou swell thy throat,<br>Only to show thy craftsmanship?<br>Wouldst thou pipe if none should hearken?<br>If the sky should droop and darken,<br>And, as came the hills more close,<br>Moody March to wooing Spring<br>Sudden turned a mouth morose,-<br>Unheeded wouldst, unheeding, sing?<br>What is it rules thy singing season?<br>Instinct, that diviner reason,<br>To which the thirst to know seemeth a sort of treason?<br>If it be,<br>Enough for me,<br>And any motive for thy music I<br>Will not ask thee to impart,<br>Letting my head play traitor to my heart,<br>Too deeply questioning why.<br>Sing for nothing, if thou wilt,<br>Or, if thou for aught must sing,<br>Sing unto thy anxious spouse,<br>Sitting somewhere 'mong the boughs,<br>In the nest that thou hast built,<br>Underneath her close-furled wing<br>Future carols fostering.<br>Sing, because it is thy bent;<br>Sing, to heighten thy content!<br>Sing, for secret none can guess;<br>Sing for very uselessness!<br>Sing for love of love and pleasure,<br>Unborn joy, unfound treasure,<br>Rapture no words can reach, yearning no thoughts can measure!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV<br>Why dost thou ever cease to sing?<br>Singing is such sweet comfort, who,<br>If he could sing the whole year through,<br>Would barter it for anything?<br>Why do not thou and joy their reign assert<br>Over winter, death, and hurt?<br>If thou forcest them to flee,<br>They in turn will banish thee,<br>Making life betwixt ye thus<br>Mutably monotonous.<br>O, why dost thou not perch and pipe perpetually?<br>All the answer I do get,<br>Is louder, madder music yet;<br>Thus rebuking: Thou dost err!<br>I am no philosopher;<br>Only a poet, forced to sing,<br>When the cold gusts gather and go,<br>When the earth stirs in its tomb,<br>And, asudden, witching Spring<br>Into her bosom sucks the snow,<br>To give it back in thorn and cherry-bloom:<br>When along the hedgerows twinkle<br>Roguish eyes of periwinkle,<br>When with undulating glee<br>Yaffles scream from tree to tree,<br>And on every bank are seen<br>Primroses that long have been<br>Lying in wait with ambushed eyes<br>To break forth when Winter flies,<br>Joined by all things swift and sweet,<br>Following him with noiseless feet,<br>Pelting him with April showers,<br>Chasing and chanting his defeat,<br>Till with undisputed flowers<br>Thronged are all the lanes to greet<br>Dove-like inspiring Spring, many-voiced Paraclete.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V<br>Therefore, glad bird! warble, and shrill, and carol,<br>Now that Earth whom winter stripped,<br>Putteth on her Spring apparel,<br>Daintily woven, gaily tipped;<br>Now that in the tussocked mead<br>Lambkins one another jostle,-<br>Carol, carol! jocund throstle!<br>Impregnating the air with thy melodious seed,<br>Which, albeit scattered late,<br>Now will quickly germinate,<br>Giving us who waited long<br>Vernal harvest of ripe song:<br>Which, I do perceive, was sent<br>Nowise to deepen argument,<br>Rather to teach me how, like thee,<br>To merge doubt in melody.<br>Sing, sing away,<br>All through the day,<br>Lengthening out the twilight gray,<br>And with thy trebles of delight<br>Invade the threshold of the night:<br>Until felicity, too high, too deep,<br>Saturated senses steep,<br>And all that lives and loves subside to songless sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341314" data-title="A Spring Carol de Alfred Austin" data-description="I
Blithe friend! blithe throstle! Is it thou,
Whom I at last again hear sing,
Perched on thy old accustomed bough,
Poet-prophet of the Spring?
Yes! Singing as thou oft hast sung,
I can see thee there among
The clustered branches of my leafless oak..."></div>
</div>
</div>