<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427740" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(For Kenton) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">An iron hand has stilled the throats<br> That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee<br>And dammed the flood of silver notes<br> That drenched the world in melody.<br>The blosmy apple boughs are yearning<br>For their wild choristers' returning,<br> But no swift wings flash through the tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye that were glad and fleet and strong,<br> Shall Silence take you in her net?<br>And shall Death quell that radiant song<br> Whose echo thrills the meadow yet?<br>Burst the frail web about you clinging<br>And charm Death's cruel heart with singing<br> Till with strange tears his eyes are wet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The scented morning of the year<br> Is old and stale now ye are gone.<br>No friendly songs the children hear<br> Among the bushes on the lawn.<br>When babies wander out a-Maying<br>Will ye, their bards, afar be straying?<br> Unhymned by you, what is the dawn? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.<br> Above the stars is set your nest.<br>Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly<br> And in the trees of Heaven rest.<br>And little children in their dreaming<br>Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming<br> And smile, by your clear music blest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joyce+Kilmer">Joyce Kilmer</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=427740" data-title="To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring de Joyce Kilmer" data-description="(For Kenton) An iron hand has stilled the throats That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee And dammed the flood of silver notes That drenched the world in melody. The blosmy apple boughs are yearning For their wild choristers' returning, But..."></div> </div> </div>

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