Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/51

The birds’ matin song Had made, and plenteous measure he
Of thanks had won who showed to me
How, helped by steps or ladder tall,
My feet might scale the high-built wall.
O joy of joys! O dear delight,
If ’twere but given to me that height480
To climb, and such sweet joyance win
As surely might be found therein.
This garden was a safe retreat
For hosts of nesting birds, and sweet
Their piping sounded from the trees,
The glory of the place; the breeze
Was redolent of woodland song,
Nor shall I be convict of wrong
In saying that it shields perchance
Three times as many birds as France490
Contains elsewhere. The harmony
Thereof could scarcely fail to be
Such as would cheer the saddest wight,
And wake his soul to sweet delight.
To me more boundless was the pleasure
To hear those songs than words may mea­sure.
And fain had I an hundred pounds
Paid straight to win within the bounds,
And see the gathered cloud of these
Sweet birds (God save them!) in the trees,500
And list their tireless minstrelsy,
Which e’en love’s dancing tunes outvie,
All piping clear, from untaught throats.
In ever varying wilding notes.
While hearkening to the matin chant
The small fowl sang, my soul a-pant