August is the Month Before Christmas

A Bird in the Solitude Singing

From the wreck of my past, which hath perish'd,    Thus much I at least may recall, It hath taught me that which I most cherish'd    Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing,    In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing,    Which speaks to my spirit of thee. Lord Byron