<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472371" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Old-Year Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through the forest, disarrayed<br>By chill November, late I strayed,<br>A lonely minstrel of the wood<br>Was singing to the solitude<br>I loved thy music, thus I said,<br>When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread<br>Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now<br>Thy carol on the leafless bough.<br>Sing, little bird! thy note shall cheer<br>The sadness of the dying year.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When violets pranked the turf with blue<br>And morning filled their cups with dew,<br>Thy slender voice with rippling trill<br>The budding April bowers would fill,<br>Nor passed its joyous tones away<br>When April rounded into May:<br>Thy life shall hail no second dawn,--<br>Sing, little bird! the spring is gone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I remember--well-a-day!--<br>Thy full-blown summer roundelay,<br>As when behind a broidered screen<br>Some holy maiden sings unseen<br>With answering notes the woodland rung,<br>And every tree-top found a tongue.<br>How deep the shade! the groves how fair!<br>Sing, little bird! the woods are bare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The summer's throbbing chant is done<br>And mute the choral antiphon;<br>The birds have left the shivering pines<br>To flit among the trellised vines,<br>Or fan the air with scented plumes<br>Amid the love-sick orange-blooms,<br>And thou art here alone,--alone,--<br>Sing, little bird! the rest have flown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The snow has capped yon distant hill,<br>At morn the running brook was still,<br>From driven herds the clouds that rise<br>Are like the smoke of sacrifice;<br>Erelong the frozen sod shall mock<br>The ploughshare, changed to stubborn rock,<br>The brawling streams shall soon be dumb,--<br>Sing, little bird! the frosts have come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fast, fast the lengthening shadows creep,<br>The songless fowls are half asleep,<br>The air grows chill, the setting sun<br>May leave thee ere thy song is done,<br>The pulse that warms thy breast grow cold,<br>Thy secret die with thee, untold<br>The lingering sunset still is bright,--<br>Sing, little bird! 't will soon be night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</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=472371" data-title="An Old-Year Song de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="As through the forest, disarrayed By chill November, late I strayed, A lonely minstrel of the wood Was singing to the solitude I loved thy music, thus I said, When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread Sweet was thy song, but sweeter now Thy carol..."></div> </div> </div>

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