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Poem by Sidney Lanier


Tampa Robins


The robin laughed in the orange-tree:
Ho, windy North, a fig for thee:
While breasts are red and wings are bold
And green trees wave us globes of gold,
Times scythe shall reap but bliss for me
-- Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.

Burn, golden globes in leafy sky,
My orange-planets: crimson I
Will shine and shoot among the spheres
(Blithe meteor that no mortal fears)
And thrid the heavenly orange-tree
With orbits bright of minstrelsy.

If that I hate wild winters spite --
The gibbet trees, the world in white,
The sky but gray wind over a grave --
Why should I ache, the seasons slave?
Ill sing from the top of the orange-tree
`Gramercy, winters tyranny.

Ill south with the sun, and keep my clime;
My wing is king of the summer-time;
My breast to the sun his torch shall hold;
And Ill call down through the green and gold
`Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me,
Bestir thee under the orange-tree.



Sidney Lanier


Sidney Lanier's other poems:
  1. A Florida Ghost
  2. Joness Porvate Argyment
  3. Strange Jokes
  4. The Dove
  5. To Charlotte Cushman


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