Poems (Edwards)/The Captive Dove
THE CAPTIVE DOVE.
How can I keep thee pining here In thraldom day by day,When thou art sighing to depart On thy bright wings away?I bend above thy little form With tenderness and love,And yet thou art the same sad thing, My little captive dove;Still pining for the bright green hills And yon blue sky above.
And yet, I fain would hold thee here, For Oh! when thou art gone,My spirit will be very sad Thou little meek-eyed one; Why was my heart so formed for love? For, prize whate'er I may,My idol changes into dust, Or vanishes away;And with a stricken soul I stand To see their swift decay.
I must not keep thee, for I know I'll love thee but too much,And thou wilt feel, like all things else, Time's cold and blighting touch;And thou wilt die and leave me too, Like all things that I love;I must not, cannot, keep thee here; Go then, my Captive Dove;Away, away to yon green hills, And thy blue home above.