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...is a song the oriole sings - And all the rest belongs to death.
But oriole, my oriole, Were some bright seraph sent from bliss With songs of heaven to win my soul From simple memories such as this,
What could he tell to tempt my ear From you? What high thing could there be, So tenderly and sweetly dear As my lost boyhood is to me?
William Dean Howells [1837-1920]
TO AN ORIOLE
How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly In tropic splendor through our Northern sky?At some glad moment was it nature's choice to dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
Or did some orange tulip, flaked with black, In some forgotten garden, ages back,
Yearning toward Heaven until its wish was heard, Desire unspeakably to be a bird?
Edgar Fawcett [1847-1904]
SONG: THE OWL
When cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click... Fawcett, Edgar
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