The Poetry Corner

The Bobolink.

By George Parsons Lathrop

How sweetly sang the bobolink, When thou, my Love, wast nigh! His liquid music from the brink Of some cloud-fountain seemed to sink, Built in the blue-domed sky. How sadly sings the bobolink! No more my Love is nigh: Yet rise, my spirit, rise, and drink Once more from that cloud-fountain's brink, - Once more before I die!