THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
85
SONG.
Take that singing bird away!
It has too glad a lay
For an ear so lorn as mine!
And its wings are all too light,
And its feathers all too bright,
To rest in a bosom like mine!
But bring that bird again
When winter has changed its strain:
Its pining will be sweet to me
When soil and stain are on its breast,
And its pinions droop for rest;—
Oh, then, bring that bird to me!
