O Heart, - That Beat The Bird'S Blithe Blood, The Blithe Bird'S Strain, And Understood The Song It Sang To Leaf And Bud, - What Dost Thou In The Wood? O Soul, - That Kept The Brook'S Glad Flow, The Glad Brook'S Word To Sun And Moon, - What Dost Thou Here Where Song Lies Low, And Dead The Dreams Of June? Where Once Was Heard A Voice Of Song, The Hautboys Of The Mad Winds Sing; Where Once A Music Flowed Along, The Rain'S Wild Bugle'S Ring. The Weedy Water Frets And Ails, And Moans In Many A Sunless Fall; And, O'Er The Melancholy, Trails The Black Crow'S Eldritch Call. Unhappy Brook! O Withered Wood! O Days, Whom Death Makes Comrades Of! Where Are The Birds That Thrilled The Blood When Life Struck Hands With Love? A Song, One Soared Against The Blue; A Song, One Silvered In The Leaves; A Song, One Blew Where Orchards Grew Gold-Appled To The Eaves. The Birds Are Flown; The Flowers, Dead; And Sky And Earth Are Bleak And Gray: Where Joy Once Went, All Light Of Tread, Grief Haunts The Leaf-Wild Way.