Still I don't propose to sing the skylark,
As perhaps inferred.
I'm content to leave it to a fitter
Tongue than mine to hymn the "moan of doves,"
Or the swallow, apt to "cheep and twitter
Twenty million loves."
I'm intrigued by no precocious rook, who
Haunts the high hall garden calling "Maud;"
Mine's no "blithe newcomer" like the cuckoo
Wordsworth used to laud.