WORDS, words, Ye are like birds. Would I might fold you, In my hands hold you Till ye were warm and your feathers a-flutter; Till, in your throats, Tremulous notes Foretold the songs ye would utter. Words, words, Ye are all birds! Would ye might linger Here on my finger, Till I kissed each, and then sent you a-winging Wild, perfect flight, Through morn to night, Singing and singing and singing! |