51
TO A CITY PIGEON.
And thou hast wings to bear thee far away,
Over bright fields, and to the tree-tops high;
And yet thou art content with us to stay,
'Mid heat and turmoil 'neath our sultry sky.
Bird, hast thou no desire to wander free
No wish to taste the fresh, pure summer air?
Where greenwood songsters fill the swaying tree,
Would'st thou not speed thee, all their mirth to share?
Stooping by some clear fount to lave thy breast,
And smooth thy plumage soft, ere flitting to thy nest?
