22 July 2013

Lines to a Red-Bird - A Poem from 1873

Little, bird, so full of gladness,
Singing sweetly in yon tree,
Naught to thee is known of sadness,
Thou a wild-wood warbler free.
Night but brings thee rest and slumber,
Sitting by thy russet mate,
Pleasures only without number,
Crown thee, birdie, soon or late.
While at heart I wear the willow,
Pretty bird I envy thee;
Tears bedew my nightly pillow,
Soothing sleep comes not to me.
Had I like thee bright pinions,
Soon I'd fly across the sea,
seeking in those far dominions
Balm to make this anguish flee.
I would seek no more the dwelling
where we first together met;
Then my heart with joy was swelling,
Now it feels but vain regret.
Birdie, hush thy joyous singing!
Sick my heart turns, at thy lay!
Go, sweet bird! thy bright form winging,
To some happier home — away!
Inez. June 20, 1873. Cuthbert Appeal 7(25): 2. Written for the Cuthbert Appeal.