Poems (Chitwood)/Come When the Birds Sing
"COME WHEN THE BIRDS SING."
When the light-hearted Spring, All the glad hours,Plants by each leaflet's grave, Pale little flowers;When pinky buds, with dew Shrined in each heart,Blow, in the gentle winds, Softly apart;When, in each trembling urn, Honey-bees hum;When to each mossy nook, Blue-birds are come;When, in the sunny light, Green branches wave,—Come then and sit awhile, Close by my grave.
When the long, golden days Of the bright June,Pass in their beauty by, Brimful of tune; When from his breezy nest, Springeth the lark;When the young nightingale Sings through the dark;When from the cloister deep, Of the dim west,Cometh the maiden moon, Pearls on her breast,—Then, with a hopeful heart, Come to my side;Only a little while Death can divide.
When, with her placid brow Twined with ripe wheat,Cometh the Autumn mild— Fruits at her feet,Give not a single sigh To Autumn's last—Let not a mournful thought Come with the past;Let not a single tear Rest on thy cheekNot one wild, bitter word Let thy lips speak.In that most holy time, Best of the year,When the heart's waters gush Sparkling and clear;When precious thoughts and true Come to us oft, Soaring, like thistle-down, Lightly aloft—Then, through the misty gold, Look thou on high;Train every wayward thought Up to the sky.