Our Native Birds
Nathan Haskell Dole 1852 – 1935
Alone I sit at eventide;
The twilight glory pales,
And o'er the meadows far and wide
I hear the bobolinks -
(We have no nightingales!)
Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
I hear the purling brook,
And from the old manse on the lea
Flies slow the cawing crow -
(In England 'twere a rook!)
The last faint golden beams of day
Still glow on cottage panes,
And on their lingering homeward way
Walk weary laboring men -
(Alas! we have no swains!)
From farmyards, down fair rural glades
Come sounds of tinkling bells,
And songs of merry brown milkmaids
Sweeter than catbird's strains -
(I should say Philomel's!)
I could sit here till morning came,
All through the night hours dark,
Until I saw the sun's bright flame
And heard the oriole -
(Alas! we have no lark!)
We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
No swains, no nightingales,
No singing milkmaids (save in books)
The poet does his best: -
It is the rhyme that fails.
Nathan Haskell Dole.
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Submitted by halel on July 15, 2020
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 54 sec read
- 4 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABABB CDCXD AEXXB XXBEB FGFHG IBIAB H |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,114 |
Words | 176 |
Stanzas | 7 |
Stanza Lengths | 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 1 |
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"Our Native Birds" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 19 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/54347/our-native-birds>.
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