BIRD upon the leafy tree-top, 'Mid the bending buds of Spring, With the golden sunlight painted Strangely on thy folded wing, With the blue of heaven entwinèd Round thy soft and slender throat, Trembling like a thing affrighted, With each sweet and gentle not— Bird of beauty, free and happy, Singing all the glad day long, Is there aught of wrong or sorrow In thy world of flowers and song? Are there dreams of years departed, Hopes that come not back again;— Are there loves that fade and darken— Joys that vanish into pain? Tell me if the same sweet music Makes thee happy all thy way, If no night of pain or sorrow Mar the blessedness of day. Not a word to me thou speakest Thought I patient wait, and long; Still with trembling throat thou singest, While I listen to the song. |