To A Storm-Staid Bird

Trembler! a month is past, and thou Wert singing on the thorn, And shaking dew-drops from the bough In the golden haze of morn!

My heart was just as thou, as light-- As loving of the breeze, That kiss'd thee in its elfin flight, Through the green acacia trees.

And now the winter snow-flakes lie All on thy widow'd wing; Trembler! methinks I hear thee sigh For the silver days of spring.

But shake thy plume--the world is free Before thee--warbler, fly! Blest by a sunbeam and by me, Bird of my heart! good-bye!