Classic Poem

Look at this ball of intractable fluff,
Panting and staring with piteous eyes!
What a rebellion of heart! what a ruff
Tickles my hand as the missel-thrush tries,
Pecking my hand with her termagant bill,
How to escape (and I love her, the sweet!)
Back where the clustering oaks on the hill
Climb to the blue with their branches, and meet!

Nay, polished beak, you are pecking a friend!
Bird of the grassland, you bleed at the wing!
Stay with me, love; in captivity mend
Wrong that was wrought by the boy and his sling.
Would that a Priest of the Birds might arise,
Wonderful words on his lips to persuade
Reasoning creatures to leave to the skies
Song at its purest, a-throb in the glade!

Bow, woodland heart, to the yoke for a while!
Soon shall the lyrics of wind in the trees
Stir you to pipe in the green forest-aisle —
God send me there with the grass to my knees!
Trusting to-day an affectionate breast
Full of its duty to welcome and share,
Build from the twigs of my friendship a nest
Not to be plundered, Delight of the air!