The Wren
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If thou wert my only wren,
I'd make a golden dome then;
As thy nest o'er my lorn skies
To hear thy song as I arise
Wilt thou comest, when I call?
Perching on the fence of my hall
Hast thou hidden inside thy brownish bill-
A love song for my heart to fill?
Wilt thou show me thy rage
If I caress thine brown plumage?
Thy life at a fast, restless and song too:
Thou comest to my garden as new,
And singest except the song of adieu: : :
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