But at my careless noise he flew, And if he chance to bring her A happy bride the summer thro’ ’Mong birchen boughs to linger, I’ll sing to you in numbers high A summer song that shall not die, But keep in memory clearly The bird I love so dearly.
The Cuckoo.
O why within that lusty wood Did I the fairy sight behold? O why within that solitude Was I thus blindly overbold? My heart, forgive me! for indeed I cannot speak my thrilling pain: The wonder vanished from the earth, The passion from my brain.
Fame.
A Fragment.
Honeysuckle.
