Classic Poem

Well may he sing — the careless bird
Whose carol o'er the field I heard.
The day is chill and dark to see;
The fitful rain falls drearily;
The bough beneath him rocks and swings.
Yet still he bravely, blithely sings!
For he has wings.

O heart of mine! You too may be,
Though joy is dying, sorrow-free.
What need to reck the gathering night?
Trust then to Fancy's pinion light;
And when the sullen storms are nigh,
Love can find out a sunnier sky;
For wings have I!