THE CAPTIVE

I opened the cage of my pet canary;
Timid, it faltered a moment there,
Then, at my call, became less wary,
And blithely sprang to the buoyant air.

Brief was its dream of freedom’s rapture;
A window barred its sunward flight;
It beat its wings in fear of capture,
But found no way to the world of light.

Out in the park two birds were mating,
Building together their tiny nest;
Keenly the captive watched them, waiting,
Pressing the glass with its throbbing breast.

Leaving at length the window-casing,
Lighting by chance on a neighboring shelf,
It stood before a mirror, facing
The pretty form of its own sweet self.

Falling in love with its own reflection,
Thinking it always another bird,
Bravely it tried to win affection,
Warbling tones I had never heard.

Hopeless alas! its tender wooing,
Vainly it trilled its sweetest note,
Coldly received was its ardent sueing,
Silent the mirrored songster’s throat.

Wearied at last, it flew off sadly,
Back to the cage’s open door,
Back to the home it left so gladly
Only a little hour before.

Dead are the lovers so fondly mated! 
Gone is their nest; it was blown away! 
But safe in the narrow cage it hated
The captive sings on its perch to-day.

WEARINESS

Snowy sails, silvery sails,
Gleaming in the sun,
Leaving scores of jewelled trails
In the course you run,

On your white wings bear away
All my care and pain;
I would for at least to-day
Be a child again.

Just to thrill with youthful fire,
Kindling heart and brain,
Just to know the old desire
Lofty heights to gain;

Just to hold the simple faith
Into which I grew,
When my God was not a wraith,
And all men were true!

Shadowed sails, clouded sails,
Life hath made me know
That you leave no jewelled trails,
Proudly though you go;

Drops that floods of diamonds seem
Are but dazzling spray,
Fleeting as a happy dream,
Swift to fade away.

Distant sails, waning sails,
Waft me to some shore
Where corroding care prevails
Never, nevermore!

Where the flotsam of the deep
Finds its wanderings cease,
And the shipwrecked sink to sleep
On the strand of peace.

A MAY MONODY

Beside my opened window pane,
Each morning in this month of May
A blackbird sings in dulcet strain
Two liquid notes, which seem to say
  “Come again!  Come again!”

Alike in sunshine and in rain,
Now loud and clear, now soft and low,
He warbles forth the same refrain,
Which haunts me with its hint of woe,—­
  “Come again!  Come again!”