The Winter Bird

The Winter Bird
by Jones Very


Thou singest alone on the bare wintery bough
As if Spring with its leaves were around thee now;
And its voice, that was heard in the laughing rill,
And the breeze, as it whispered o'er meadow and hill,
Still fell on thine ear, as it glided along
To join the sweet tide of thine own gushing song
Sing on-- though its sweetness was lost on the blast
And the storm has not heeded thy song as it passed;
Yet its music awoke in a heart that was near
A thought whose remembrance will ever prove dear--
Though the brook may be frozen, though silent its voice
And the gales through the meadows no longer rejoice
Still I felt as my ear caught thy glad note of glee,
That my heart in life's winter might carol like thee.