Classic Poem

Bird of my heart, — come, sing to me
The dear old tunes of early hours,
And, as thou sing'st, I'll weave for thee
A nest of Summer's sweetest flowers:
There shalt thou sleep, if on my breast
Thou find'st a less congenial rest,
There shalt thou sleep, if by my side
Thy beauteous plumes thou wilt not hide! —

Bird of my heart, — in distant climes
I've strayed since last thy notes I heard;
And after Vesper's solemn chimes,
I've listened to the Evening bird;
That songstress strange, who only sings
When Night unfolds her sable wings —
But ah! than thine a fainter tale
Was warbled by the nightingale! —

Bird of my heart, — thy lightest tone
Lulls all my senses to repose;
So sings the Eastern charmer lone,
So droops to sleep the captive rose!
Come, sing — and to my soul entice
A pictured dream of Paradise;
For in that dream I shall not see
A Houri, angel, saint, like thee!

Bird of my heart, — come, sing to me
The song it thrills my heart to hear,
And as thou sing'st, I'll fancy thee
The spirit of some starry sphere; —
For Music, poets call divine,
And once she made her secret thine,
And, touching her melodious shell,
Hung on thy lips her magic spell!