From their foreign land and precious,
From their nest in green, I took
Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them
In a cage of woven gold.
And the cage of woven gold
Then became a second nest;
On our shores the birds have found
A new, precious fatherland.
Softly here they shake their feathers;
Swiftly sing of worlds and souls
Deep and spacious; or they mingle
Lightning-like their tears and smiles.
And though small and as of coral,
Yet they sing with accents loud.
_1896._