poems.
9
What doth inspire thy gentle breast,
When light scarce lingers in the west,
To rest thee there?
Is 't inspiration from above,
Teaching thy voice to sing of love,
And breathe thy prayer?
When light scarce lingers in the west,
To rest thee there?
Is 't inspiration from above,
Teaching thy voice to sing of love,
And breathe thy prayer?
Perhaps a friend who watched thy nest,
When truant school-boys were in quest
Of thy young brood,
Now slumbers in that silent grave,
Where fresh wild flowers so sweetly wave
In solitude.
When truant school-boys were in quest
Of thy young brood,
Now slumbers in that silent grave,
Where fresh wild flowers so sweetly wave
In solitude.
And thou dear bird hast come to bring
Thy pure and holy offering
To friendship's shrine;
But the unconscious form below,
Of thy rich incense ne'er can know;
Would it were mine.
Thy pure and holy offering
To friendship's shrine;
But the unconscious form below,
Of thy rich incense ne'er can know;
Would it were mine.
'T were sweet in thee to shun the day,
And come at twilight hour to pay
Thy homage here;
No mate was near, thou cam'st alone;
All other birds to rest had flown,
Not one to cheer.
And come at twilight hour to pay
Thy homage here;
No mate was near, thou cam'st alone;
All other birds to rest had flown,
Not one to cheer.
