Bird and Brook

My song, that’s bird-like in its kind,

Is in the mind,

Love- in the mind;

And in my season I am moved

No more or less from being loved;

No woman’s love has power to bring

My song back when I cease to sing;

Nor can she, when my season’s strong,

Prevent my mind from song.

But where I feel your woman’s part,

Is in the heart,

Love- in the heart;

For when that bird of mine broods long,

And I’d be sad without my song,

Your love then makes my heart a brook

That dreams in many a quiet nook,

And makes a steady murmuring sound

Of joy the whole year round.