MY MOCKING-BIRD
Mocking-bird! mocking-bird! swinging high
Aloft in your gilded cage,
The clouds are hurrying over the sky,
The wild winds fiercely rage.
But soft and warm is the air you breathe
Up there with the tremulous ivy wreath,
And never an icy blast can chill
The perfumed silence sweet and still.
Aloft in your gilded cage,
The clouds are hurrying over the sky,
The wild winds fiercely rage.
But soft and warm is the air you breathe
Up there with the tremulous ivy wreath,
And never an icy blast can chill
The perfumed silence sweet and still.
Mocking-bird! mocking-bird! from your throat
Breaks forth no flood of song,
Nor even one perfect golden note,
Triumphant, glad, and strong!
But now and then a pitiful wail,
Like the plaintive sigh of the dying gale,
Comes from that arching breast of thine
Swinging up there with the ivy-vine.
Breaks forth no flood of song,
Nor even one perfect golden note,
Triumphant, glad, and strong!
But now and then a pitiful wail,
Like the plaintive sigh of the dying gale,
Comes from that arching breast of thine
Swinging up there with the ivy-vine.
Mocking-bird! mocking-bird! well I know
Your heart is far away,
Where the golden stars of the jasmine glow,
And the roses bloom alway!
For your cradle-nest was softly made
In the depth of a blossoming myrtle's shade;
And you heard the chant of the southern seas
Borne inland by the favoring breeze.
Your heart is far away,
Where the golden stars of the jasmine glow,
And the roses bloom alway!
For your cradle-nest was softly made
In the depth of a blossoming myrtle's shade;
And you heard the chant of the southern seas
Borne inland by the favoring breeze.
