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