Discontent
A little bird with a scarlet coat
Came fluting to me a silvery note,
As though it said through its mellow throat,
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It perched alone on a lonely tree,
And seemed that it longed and longed to be
In the isle it sung of thus to me,
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It thought perhaps of a little isle
Where blue the waters and heavens smile
And green the willows wave all the while—
Isle of Willows! Isle of Willows!
Is this thy memory or thy hope—
Thy being's backward or forward scope,
Whereto thy little heart-longings grope?—
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It said me never another word,
But flitted away, this little bird;
Yet aye in my soul its voice is heard—
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
Came fluting to me a silvery note,
As though it said through its mellow throat,
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It perched alone on a lonely tree,
And seemed that it longed and longed to be
In the isle it sung of thus to me,
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It thought perhaps of a little isle
Where blue the waters and heavens smile
And green the willows wave all the while—
Isle of Willows! Isle of Willows!
Is this thy memory or thy hope—
Thy being's backward or forward scope,
Whereto thy little heart-longings grope?—
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
It said me never another word,
But flitted away, this little bird;
Yet aye in my soul its voice is heard—
Isle-of-Willows! Isle-of-Willows!
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