Morris Rosenfeld

(1862-1923 / Poland)

Again I Sing My Songs - Poem by Morris Rosenfeld

Once again my songs I sing thee,
Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee
Songs of love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow
Gladly, sadly bringing;--
Summer not a song would borrow--
Winter sets me singing.

O when life turns sad and lonely,
When our joys are dead;
When are heard the ravens only
In the trees o'erhead;
When the stormwind on the bowers
Wreaks its wicked will,
When the frost paints lying flowers,
How should I be still?

When the clouds are low descending,
And the sun is drowned;
When the winter knows no ending,
And the cold is crowned;
When with evil gloom oppressed
Lie the ruins bare;
When a sigh escapes the breast,
Takes us unaware;

When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams
Of its summer gladness,
When the wood is stripped and seems
Full of care and sadness;
When the songs are growing still
As in Death's repose,
And the heart is growing chill,
And the eyelids close;

Then, O then I can but sing
For I dream her coming--
May, sweet May! I see her bring
Buds and wild-bee humming!
Through the silence heart-appalling,
As I stand and listen,
I can hear her song-birds calling,
See her green leaves glisten!

Thus again my songs I sing thee,
Now the spell is broken;
Brothers, yet again I bring thee
Of my love the token.
Of my joy and of my sorrow
Gladly, sadly bringing,--
Summer not a song would borrow!--
Winter sets me singing.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 22, 2010



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