Classic Poem

I' VE a Bird-Cage, one of the very best,
With a perch inside, and a snug warm nest;
Now which of the feathered tribe shall be
The one to fill my nest for me?

The Humming-bird is a sparkling sight,
Like a diamond flashing in sunshine bright;
But away she whirrs with a murmuring hum,
While her glimmering, gilded throat is dumb.

The gay Macaw may flaunt her plumes
In groves of India's rich perfumes;
But what are her tints of green and gold,
With a voice that can only scream and scold?

The Bird-of-Paradise, gleaming bright
As if dyed in the rainbow's liquid light,
Would seem to us mortals half divine,
Were her song as sweet as her feathers are fine.

But in homely russet brown the Thrush
Makes music from the hawthorn bush;
The Lark, that " high at heaven's gate sings, "
Soars aloft at morn on modest wings;

And the Nightingale — so lovers say —
Though clothed in dull and dusky gray,
Pours forth a gushing stream of song,
And trills to her dear love all night long.

Then away with your fluttering, flaunting things,
With their glittering charms and their glancing wings,
And give me a mate of a modest hue,
Whose song shall warble the whole night through.

A right warm heart shall be her nest;
Her perch a fond and faithful breast;
Her cage two loving arms shall be:
Who then would sigh for liberty?