How like that pied and restless bird am I Called Lapwing from her false and feigned wound! Lame on one side she painfully doth fly, Drooping her crest, and circling near the ground; Such thought she takes but to conceal her brood, Who crowd unseen within a helpless nest, Nor can rough idlers, though their steps intrude, Win that nice secret from her panting breast; So I in many songs most deftly hide The tender casket of my heart's rich pain, Lest one dear name my soul hath deified Be trodden upon by wandering feet profane; I sing my songs for Love's true priests alone, And Love must watch my nest when I am gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FANCY IN NUBIBUS; OR, THE POET IN THE CLOUDS by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE UPON THE SAYING THAT MY VERSES WERE MADE BY ANOTHER by ANNE KILLIGREW THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 82. HOARDED JOY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A WINTRY LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE DEATH OF HUSS by ALFRED AUSTIN FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: MAN'S GUARD AGAINST DEATH by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |