TELL ME, DEAR BIRD.
In the warm twilight where I mused, there came
A bird of unknown race with breast of flame.
Tell me, dear bird, O bird with breast of flame,
I conjure thee, e’en by his sacred name,
How may I lure and win Love to my side?
There is no lure for Love, in patience bide,
And if he cometh not await him still,
Love cometh only when and where he will.
But when he cometh, bird with breast of flame,
Teach me his roving feet to bind and tame.
Many have sought to bind him, but in vain;
He will not brook nor gold nor silken chain.
If he is caught, Love languishes and dies,
And ’tis not Love, if free to stay, he flies.
Tell me, dear bird, O bird with breast of flame,
When true Love comes, how may I know his name?
What are the golden words upon his tongue:
What message sweeter than a seraph’s song?
Love hath no shibboleth, and where are words
For the enraptured songs of summer birds?
Tell me, dear Love, O bird with breast of flame,
The deepest sense and meaning of thy name?
Two all-sufficing souls for woe or bliss,
But what they do, or what their converse is,
Love only knows; they walk where none may see,
Wrapped in the shades of a sweet mystery.