My heart is like a little bird That sits and sings for very gladness; Sometimes it chirps a feeble note, Sometimes it warbles wild with madness. It used to sing for one alone Its sweetest song, again, again, But now it has a sweeter still And sings within my breast,--in vain. Oh, little bird, sing not so loud, And close your pretty wings to rest, For never, never can you reach The cruel hand that wrung your nest. I would not for a queen's bright crown This little bird should die of sorrow; And so I keep it safe from harm, Within my breast, till some to-morrow Some wandering wind may waft it off Far from the reach of care or pain, To that blest land where birds are safe, And never may be caught again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY ORCHA'D IN LINDEN LEA by WILLIAM BARNES WINTER SONG by LUDWIG HENRICH CHRISTOPH HOLTY HORATIUS [AT THE BRIDGE], FR. LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THE NEW PROSERPINE by MATHILDE BLIND |