I listen each morning with heartfelt delight,
While birds bid adieu to the shadows of night.
And greet in sweet anthems the bright king of day,
As they through the forest are soaring away.
Yet thy flowing numbers, when breathing around,
Awaken such echoes as these never found;
A chord in my bosom, thy sonnet has stirred,
Which never was touched by the notes of a bird.
But meekness in woman to me is so dear,
I love thee the more when such language I hear;