University of Virginia Library

SONNET.

[Bird that discoursest from yon poplar bough]

Bird that discoursest from yon poplar bough,
Outweeping night, and in thy eloquent tears
Holding sweet converse with the thousand spheres
That glow and glisten from Night's glorious brow—
Oh! may thy lot be mine! that, lonely now,
And doomed to mourn the remnant of my years,
My song may swell to more than mortal ears,
And sweet as is thy strain be poured my vow!
Bird of the poet's paradise! by thee
Taught where the tides of feeling deepest tremble,
Playful in gloom, like some sequestered sea,
I, too, amidst my anguish would dissemble,
And turn misfortune to such melody
That my despair thy transports would resemble!