“BELOVED, HAST PERCEIVED A THROSTLE TUNE”
Belovëd, hast perceived a throstle tune
His liberal wealth of song,
’Mid the leafy coverts, all a lucent noon,
Where Audience none had he, yet, desolate,
He fluted keen and strong
Appreciated only by his mate?
Even so sing I, sequestered and alone.
No World’s large ear to woo
My measures all upon thy feet are thrown.
My Mate thou art, my single Audience thou,
Thence never do I sue
Vainly for plaudit: is not this enow?
Ah, if that throstle glimpsed a Vision clear,
A Vision seeming Truth;
If unto him, from Life’s encrusting sphere,
An iridescent Beauty had out-twirled,
In yon sequestered booth
How would he chafe his soul to reach the World!