THE WARBLER


THE WARBLER by John Keats
Stay, ruby breasted Warbler, stay And let me see thy sparkling eye: Oh brush not yet the pearl-strung spray, Nor bow thy pretty head to fly.

Stay while I tell thee, fluttering thing, That thou of love an emblem art; Yes, patient plume thy little wing, Whilst I my thoughts to thee impart.

When summer nights the dews bestow, And summer suns enrich the day, Thy notes the blossoms charm to blow, Each opes delighted at thy lay.

So when in youth the Eye's dark glance Speaks pleasure from its circle bright, The Tones of love our joys enhance, And make superior each delight.

And when the bleak storms resistless rove, And every rural bliss destroy, Nought comforts then the leaf-less grove But thy sweet note its only joy.

Even so the words of love beguile When pleasure's tree no flower bears, And draw a soft endearing smile Amid the gloom of grief and tears.


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