 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
SONG.
(TO A BIRD.)
O wing-girt form of air and fire!
Thy little heart will burst atwain:
Sooner Apollo's steeds will tire
Than thou remit that ardent strain!
Thy little heart will burst atwain:
Sooner Apollo's steeds will tire
Than thou remit that ardent strain!
Who changed to shape so fine and small
Some Mænad o'er the rough hills flying?
What God, expelled the Olympian Hall,
In anger took this mould to die in?
Some Mænad o'er the rough hills flying?
What God, expelled the Olympian Hall,
In anger took this mould to die in?
Fly, Winter, fly! the notes she flingeth
Are shafts that pierce thy mailed array:
Come, Summer, come! the songs she singeth
With buds and blossoms pave thy way!
Are shafts that pierce thy mailed array:
Come, Summer, come! the songs she singeth
With buds and blossoms pave thy way!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |