 | Love's memorial |  |
13
THE CAGED THRUSH.
The deep woods call me to their solitudes,The green deep rustling murmuring wavering woods,
To their wild paths of fern and springing moss,
Where winds a streamlet wanderingly across,
And answers chafing elm-trees as it goes:
Where she, who should have been my mistress, knows
Not of my prison, and caring nought thereof
Sings near her nest watched by another love;
And my breast, when I see my brothers flee
To fly or sing, strains outwards piteously,
And my voice, rising as my sorrows strain,
Recalls them who forsake me in my pain,
Recalls them to my side; but never bird
Comes nigh to me, and never chirping word
Tells me how now the streamlet gleams and flows,
Or tree-tops murmur when the west wind blows
Through wild-wood alleys lined with moss and fern:
But my heart still alone must ache and burn
For all the murmurs of the wavering woods,
And my love wandering in their solitudes.
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