 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
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WILLY'S LAMENT FOR HIS NONPAREIL.
My bird! my beautiful and bright,
My present from the sunny South!
Dear Anna sent him laden light,
With kisses from her own sweet mouth.
I stole them from him in my play,
And has he, truly, flown away?
My present from the sunny South!
Dear Anna sent him laden light,
With kisses from her own sweet mouth.
I stole them from him in my play,
And has he, truly, flown away?
My bird! all brilliant colours lent
Their glory to his glossy wings,
And with a changeful lustre, blent
Around his throat in radiant rings.
I called him Rainbow in my play,
And, rainbow-like, he's flown away!
Their glory to his glossy wings,
And with a changeful lustre, blent
Around his throat in radiant rings.
I called him Rainbow in my play,
And, rainbow-like, he's flown away!
My bird! my own beloved bird!
His carol seemed more sweet and clear,
Than any I have ever heard,
Save her's who sent the warbler here.
I thought he loved my gentle play,
He did not—for he's flown away!
His carol seemed more sweet and clear,
Than any I have ever heard,
Save her's who sent the warbler here.
I thought he loved my gentle play,
He did not—for he's flown away!
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And Anna, when the tale she hears,
Her little heart will heave with woe,
Her large soft eyes will fill with tears,
And she will think I let him go:
I, who have mourned his loss all day,
And wept because he went away!
Her little heart will heave with woe,
Her large soft eyes will fill with tears,
And she will think I let him go:
I, who have mourned his loss all day,
And wept because he went away!
His cage was light, and large, I'm sure,
And all his seeds were good to eat;
And fresh the water was, and pure,
In which he washed his playful feet.
And then he seemed so fond and gay,
I can't think why he went away.
And all his seeds were good to eat;
And fresh the water was, and pure,
In which he washed his playful feet.
And then he seemed so fond and gay,
I can't think why he went away.
How much I miss his sunrise song,
His pretty bill, his glancing eye,
I think of them the whole day long,
And every time I speak, I sigh:
I do not love to laugh and play,
When faithless Rainbow's flown away.
His pretty bill, his glancing eye,
I think of them the whole day long,
And every time I speak, I sigh:
I do not love to laugh and play,
When faithless Rainbow's flown away.
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |