Poems (Follen)/To a Bird singing in the City

by Eliza Lee Cabot Follen

TO A BIRD SINGING IN THE CITY.

Cease, sweet bird, that melting note;
 Why in the city dost thou stay,
Straining thy little tuneful throat?
 Spread out thy wings and fly away.

Here busy tumult thou wilt find,
 And sounds remote from harmony:
The tinkling rill and whispering wind,
 For thee were fitter company.

When every worldly wish is still,
 And heavenly thoughts the mind employ,
Thy tender song was meant to fill
 The pensive heart with silent joy.

But here, where discord reigns around,
 'T is to the aching truant heart
A sweet but melancholy sound,
 That makes it flutter to depart.

Although thou art a stranger here,
 Far from thy native, favorite grove,
Yet do thy notes, so strong and clear,
 Breathe naught but happiness and love.

Teach me, sweet bird, thy tuneful art;
 I would, like thee, find all things fair;
Like thee, with joyful, loving heart,
 I would make music everywhere.