[THREE AGES.]
By JOHN ALBEE.
’Twas morn, and o’er my little window ledge
Flew many a wild bird of plumage bright;
They sang sweet songs, and left the truest pledge
Of love, of love and truth, by day and night.
’Twas afternoon, and through my stately door,
In soberer dress, stepped the too tame birds,
Calling our former themes so vain and poor,