POOR restless dove, I pity thee; And when I hear thy plaintive moan, I mourn for thy captivity, And in thy woes forget mine own. To see thee stand prepared to fly, And flap those useless wings of thine, And gaze into the distant sky, Would melt a harder heart than mine. In vain -- in vain! Thou canst not rise: Thy prison roof confines thee there; Its slender wires delude thine eyes, And quench thy longings with despair. Oh, thou wert made to wander free In sunny mead and shady grove, And, far beyond the rolling sea, In distant climes, at will to rove! Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate Thy little drooping heart to cheer, And share with thee thy captive state, Thou couldst be happy even there. Yes, even there, if, listening by, One faithful dear companion stood, While gazing on her full bright eye, Thou mightst forget thy native wood. But thou, poor solitary dove, Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan; The heart, that Nature formed to love, Must pine, neglected, and alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REMEMBRANCE by JOHN HENRY BONER FOR 'THE WINE OF CIRCE' (BY EDWARD BURNE JONES) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE OLD FLUTE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 97. AL-WARITH by EDWIN ARNOLD THE ORCHARD FEAST by GORDON BOTTOMLEY ON A ROYAL VISIT TO THE VAULTS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |