 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
180
SONNET.
THE SAME.
Art musing on thy dear and native woodsFar in the West? The fragrant forests fair,
The gorgeous flowers, and the balmier air,
When in these rapturous, ecstatic moods
Thou pourest song in such harmonious floods
That other songsters, hearing, may despair?
Ne'er heard I bird that could with thee compare,
So rich thy thrilling strains, so oft renewed.
What moveth thee, a captive as thou art,
To perch here, bold, familiar at my feet,
Or on my hand to make thyself a seat;
And tho' from country, kindred, home apart,
To send forth streams of music clear and sweet,
With lifted, quivering wings, and swelling heart?
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |