The Sonnets

From their foreign land and precious, From their nest in green, I took Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them In a cage of woven gold.

And the cage of woven gold Then became a second nest; On our shores the birds have found A new, precious fatherland.

Softly here they shake their feathers; Swiftly sing of worlds and souls Deep and spacious; or they mingle

Lightning-like their tears and smiles. And though small and as of coral, Yet they sing with accents loud.

1896.