O, earliest singer! O, care-charming bird,
Married to Morning by a sweeter hymn
Than priest e’er chaunted from his cloister dim
At midnight,--or veiled virgin’s holier word
At sunrise or the paler evening heard,--
To which of all Heaven’s young and lovely Hours,
Who wreathe soft light in hyacinthine bowers,
Beautiful Spirit, is thy suit preferred?
--Unlike the creatures of this low dull earth,
Still dost thou woo, although thy suit be won;
And thus thy mistress bright is pleased ever.
Oh! lose not thou this mark of finer birth--
So may’st thou yet live on, from sun to sun,
Thy joy uncheck’d, thy sweet song silent never.
_Barry Cornwall._