 | Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems |  |
184
THE LAPWING.
How like that pied and restless bird am ICalled Lapwing from her false and feignèd wound!
Lame on one side she painfully doth fly,
Drooping her crest, and circling near the ground;
Such thought she takes but to conceal her brood,
Who crowd unseen within a helpless nest,
Nor can rough idlers, though their steps intrude,
Win that nice secret from her panting breast;
So I in many songs most deftly hide
The tender casket of my heart's rich pain,
Lest one dear name my soul hath deified
Be trodden upon by wandering feet profane;
I sing my songs for Love's true priests alone,
And Love must watch my nest when I am gone.
| Firdausi in Exile and Other Poems | |