TO A LYRE-BIRD
Oh, Lyre-bird! tethered to the earth,
Thou envy’st not the skylark in the sky,
But pour’st a thousand mocking notes of mirth,
Drowning the ravished songsters singing nigh.
If wing’d—so pure thy voice—thou might’st aspire
To drown indeed the whole seraphic choir!
And, listening to thee—captive in thy chains—
I think me of a singer such as thou