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TO A. S.
#1
TO A. S.


LIKE some wild bird that warbles to itself
Secure among the leaves, I piped my song,
But little thinking I of name or pelf,
And caring only I might sing as long
As the rude chant could please my partial ear,
Or till the heart that out of fulness sang,
Content with utterance, ceased. - That thou shouldst hear,
With whose own strains of late the forest rang,
I could not dream; but now that thou hast heard,
And claimed for brother-singer of the wood
One who but thought to carol undeterred
And all unknown, I quit my solitude,
And from the topmost branch of all the tree
I sing this song, not for myself, but thee.
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