In wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now half extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.
Ye jarring, screeching things around,
Scream your discordant joys;
Now half your din of tuneless sound
With Echo silent lies.
On The Death Of A Lap-Dog, Named Echo.
Robert Burns
Suggested Poems
Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.