Ah, bird, our love is never spent with your clear note, nor satiate our soul; not song, not wail, not hurt, but just a call summons us with its simple top-note and soft fall; not to some rarer heaven of lilies over-tall, nor tuberose set against some sun-lit wall, but to a gracious cedar-palace hall; not marble set with purple hung with roses and tall sweet liliessuch as the nightingale would summon for us with her wail– (surely only unhappiness could thrill such a rich madrigal!) not she, the nightingale can fill our souls with such a wistful joy as this: nor, bird, so sweet was ever a swallow note not hers, so perfect with the wing of lazuli and bright breast nor yet the oriole filling with melody from her fiery throat some island-orchard in a purple sea. [Page 26] Ah dear, ah gentle bird, you spread warm length of crimson wool and tinted woven stuff for us to rest upon, nor numb with ecstasy nor drown with death: only you soothe, make still the throbbing of our brain: so through her forest trees, when all her hope was gone and all her pain, Calypso heard your call across the gathering drift of burning cedar-wood, across the low-set bed of wandering parsley and violet, when all her hope was dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CANCIONEROS: 2 by CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE FIRST SNOWFALL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE RETORT by GEORGE POPE MORRIS |