To see thy tiny songsters rear
With wondrous skill, their home of love;
And hear each praise the other's care
In songs, that might be breathed above.
To watch the modest flowret's growth,
The spotless type of love on earth
Which nightly droops, as though 'twere loath
To quit the breast that gave it birth;
Or lay me down beside some brook,
Where I may muse the livelong day,
And drop my oft neglected book,
To dream of others far away.
Such is the joy, the quiet bliss,
Of holding converse sweet with thee,
And wooing, still, thy favoring kiss
Midst nature's wilds, in fancy free.
But I must bide within my room,
Content to breathe, alone, thy air,
And feel that it is double gloom,
Because thou art so lovely, there.