TO MY CANARY BIRD
BORNE on the wavelets of thy fluent notes,
Impassioned little minstrel of the cage,
My spirit like a happy sea-gull floats,
Unheedful of the clamor and the rage
Of storms that menace ruin as they pass,
Impatient for the freedom of the plain,
Crusted and polished like a sea of glass,
Whereon they shout their wild and weird refrain.
There is no touch of winter in thy song,