The bird of needle beak, and breast...

The bird of needle beak, and breast . . . . . . . . Of orange flame, doth weave its nest At tip of branch, a cradle swinging To all the airs of the south and west.

Who schooled thy needle to begin Its forth and back and out and in, Till plaited cot, a gourd-like pendant, Shall temper winds to thy first of kin?

Thy sun-bright mate, his joy to prove, Flutes sweet his ardors from above. O golden robin, skyey-nested, Thou rockest safe in the arms of Love.