Classic Poem

WITH A GIFT OF BIRDS WHICH ADDRESS A FRIEND

At foot of those her hills, where first her dress
Of lovely earth that self-same Lady wore,
Who often wakes him whom his fierce sobs tore —
He that now sends us to your loveliness —
Beneath those hills we flew, with peace to bless
Our flight — that peace all living things implore —
Nor ever dreamed to find a sudden door
Thwarting our wings or threatening distress.
But from our present misery, thus reft
From our so recent state, we still obtain
Even from death one comfort: him we left,
Who brought us to this pass, a bitter bane
Is his who, stolen by a stubborn theft,
Endures a deadlier death, a harsher chain.