Dora Sigerson Shorter

This is my brave singer,
            With his beak of gold;
     Now my heart’s a captive
            In his song’s sweet hold.

     O, the lark’s a rover,
            Seeking fields above:
     But my serenader
            Hath a human love.

     “Hark!” he says, “in winter
            Nests are full of snow,
     But a truce to wailing
            Summer breezes blow.”

     “Hush!” he sings, “with night-time
            Phantoms cease to be,
     Join your serenader
            Piping on his tree.”

     O, my little lover,
            Warble in the blue;
     Wingless must I envy
            Skies so wide for you.