Classic Poem

The captive bird with ardour sings,
Where no fond mate rewards the strain,
Yet, sure, to chant some solace brings,
Although he chant in vain:
But I my thoughts in bondage keep,
Lest he should hear who ne'er will heed,
And none shall see the tears I weep,
With whom 'twere vain to plead.

No glossy breast, no quivering plume,
Like fan unfurled to tempt the eye,
Reminds the prisoner of his doom,
Apart, yet all too nigh:
O would that in some shrouded place
I too were prisoned fancy free,
And ne'er had seen that beaming face,
Which ne'er will beam on me!

When kindred birds fleet o'er the wave,
From yellow woods to green ones fly,
The captive hears the wild winds rave
Beneath a wint'ry sky!
And, when my loved one hence shall fleet,
Bleak, bleak will yonder heav'n appear,
The flowers will droop, no longer sweet,
And every leaf be sere.