They are sitting on the spires;
Song and anthem, psalm and carol
Quaver as from mystic lyres.
Everywhere they flirt and flutter,
Mate and nest in shrub and tree.
Charmed, I wander yon and hither,
While their beauties ravish me,
Till my musings sing like thrushes,
And my heart is like a nest,
Softly lined with tender fancies