OF ALL THE BIRDS by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT

Of all the birds that I do know,
Philip, my sparrow, is the best,
For when I lost my way, I found
His chirping solaced my unrest.

He is my watchman every day,
He is my faithful Philomel;
And yet, if Philip be away,
I shall no greater sorrow feel.

To every thing that I propose,
He is my very oracle;
And in the bud of all my woes
He is my dear and only cal.

In weal and woe he is my ease,
In want and wealth he is my friend;
I never shall enjoy my peace
Till with my Philip I shall end.

In winter when the leaves are gone,
And naked trees stand trembling by,
When all but birds are fled and gone,
Philip with me will chirp and fly.

In storms he is my little bark,
In calm he is my charmèd dove;
If Philip be not in the ark,
The deluge drowns me and my love.

Thus all I am is Philip's due,
Myself and all I have is his;
Nor bird so true nor yet so new,
Nor servant so sincere there is.

And though I often vex him too,
Yet I do know, and so must all,
He'll sit and sing a love song too,
And prove most constant, when I fall.

But if unkindness prove my fate,
And smite me with a lover's dart,
Philip will cry still: yet, yet, yet,
And wound himself to cure my heart.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...