The Birds Will Sing

The birds will sing when I am gone
To stranger-folk with stranger-ways.
Without a break they’ll whistle on
In close and flowery orchard deeps,
Where once I loved them, nights and days,
And never reck of one that weeps.
The bud that slept within the bark
When I was there, will break her bars —
A small green flame from out the dark —
And round into a world, and spread
Beneath the silver dews and stars,
Nor miss my bent, attentive head.